Retribution
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: Harper's past and present will collide, bringing with it remembered pain, anger, and something else. Rated for safety though I don't think it's too bad. But then what do I know. Please R&R. Please, please, please. Ch.ten is up and running!
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** No, no, no, no, I do not own Andromeda, darn it!

Harper's past and present will collide, bringing with it pain, anger, and something more. I did as much research as I could into Harper's life on earth, gathering the bits and pieces of it mentioned here and there.This story is myown personal rendition of Harper's past and what it might have been life.So of course there is much artistic liscensing involved.

**Retribution**

Ch. 1

5 years old

Eli Harper sloughed through the sticky mud that was supposed to be the path. He adjusted the grimy, foul-smelling sack over onto his other shoulder, just as he slipped. He reached out and caught hold of a bent branch that nearly gave way even under his meager weight. He pulled, the branch cracking and snapping, reminding him in a sickening sort of way of how his own bones tended to be. When he was righted, he continued trudging through the mud toward the cluster of ramshackle hovels in the clearing of the gray forest.

Eli took a long, deep breath of air made fetid by garbage, mud and rain that would not go away. He entered the cluster of homes that from a distance always appeared more like a garbage heap. But the more like a garbage heap it was, the better, since the Dragans tended to overlook those.

He made his way around the houses of metal planks and cloth to the middle-most hut. Adjusting his sack once again, he pulled the rusting door made of several layers of sheet metal. It whined open, and Eli entered wearing a triumphant smile and with arms spread wide.

" Trust in the Harper, the Harper is good," he announced, dropping the sack with a wet thud on themetal floor. He was standing in the living room/kitchen, with the table and crude sink/oven on his right, and a couch made up of the piece of some ship and many moldy pillows on the left.

Cassie Harper was standing at the metal tub that acted as the sink, which connected to a messy iron box that was supposed to be the oven and stove. Cassie turned on hearing her husband's voice, wiping her hands on her stained shirt then leaning back against the sink.

Eli looked her over lovingly. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Small, but wiry, with cropped blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Eli was her opposite in a way. He was tall, with sandy hair that was even more cropped than his wife's. He was also taller by half a foot, which Cassie liked to joke on how unnatural it seemed. But it could not have been that unnatural since every uber always towered over him.

" I always do, babe," she said to him. " So what'd you bring?"

Eli picked up the sack and tossed it to her. She opened it and quirked an eyebrow. " Oh, five rats and some kind of bird. Good haul, hon."

Eli wiped his wet hands on the sides of his tattered jacket. He then removed his goggles from around his neck and tossed them on the table. " You bet. See? Didn't I say coming out to the country was a good idea? Food as far as the eye can see, and not an over-sized uber to butt into our business and make off with our kids. Speaking of rug-rats, where's ours?"

" He's…" Cassie began as she dumped the dead rats on the table. Just then, a small, thin bundle of energy came tearing out of the short hallway leading to the bedrooms.

" Dad!" the boy shrieked, taking a flying leap into his father's arms. Eli lifted the little boy with his mess of blond hair into the air.

" Seamus! How's the runt?"

" Dad, dad, dad, uncle Ike found a generator and showed me how to fix it but then I started coughing bad and…"

Eli lowered his son, dread suddenly taking hold of his heart and squeezing it. He looked over at Cassie questioningly.

" Coughing?"

Cassie's features betrayed worry, and she lifted her shoulder in a helpless shrug.

" It wasn't like last time. And he's supposed to be resting," she added, giving Seamus a meaningful look. Seamus groaned.

" I don't want to, it's boring."

Eli set his small, light son on the floor. " Do what your ma tells you, kid. Go take a nap and I promise I'll let you go see Ike fix the generator."

Seamus beamed then hurried back to his room. Eli watched him go with a mixture of pride and sadness. Seamus was such a pale, frail looking little guy that Eli was still amazed he had survived as long as he had. It was always a milestone when a child survived to his fifth birthday, but that did not mean they were out of the woods yet. Eli was just glad they weren't living in any of the uber refugee camps. Illness was one thing, but illness combined with the abuse a neitzchean could dish out…

Eli looked away to the pile of dead rats. He didn't like thinking on such matters. Seamus was safe out here beyond the confines of the camps. They all were.

Cassie walked over to her husband, placing her thin arms around his narrow waist and hugging him tightly as though in fear she might lose him.

" He'll be all right," she said, resting her chin on Eli's bony shoulder. " He's small, but he's strong. Trust in the Harper, remember?"

Eli grinned, taking his wife's hands and squeezing them. Then Cassie released Eli and went over to the table to ready their dinner. " I hope you don't mind, but I want to give two of these to Ike and his family. They haven't had much luck."

Eli moved over to the couch and dropped himself into the dusty cushions. " No problem babe. Actually, give them three. I've been needing to pay your brother back for that heating device he made us."

Cassie sighed. " Okay, but he said you didn't have to." Cassie tossed two of the rats and the bird into the sink to wash them. " Patrol ships flew by this afternoon. Five of them this time. Think anything's going on?"

Eli scratched the back of his head. I'm getting lice again, he thought, though he highly doubted he had gotten rid of the last bunch. "Yeah, I saw them too. Maybe some Jaguars are raiding them. I really don't care as long as they don't land here."

Eli had to pride himself in how well he hid his worry.

AAAAAAAAAAA

Seamus was bored, too bored to even sleep. So he stood up on his bed of blankets to peer out the dingy window at the children playing in the mud. Brenden was there, playing with their older twin cousins Dashel and Dan. Both boys were sixteen, and funny to no end. They were covered in rags, pretending to be Magog chasing down the rest of the kids. The younger kids would move in close, trying to touch them, and the twins would lurch at them, causing them to squeal in delight.

It was torture watching them play, and Seamus started jumping on his bed, trying to quell the desire to slip out the window and join them. Soon, he could take no more, and pounded on his window to get everyone's attention.

The twins took notice and stalked up to the window. Seamus had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud and getting caught. Brenden also ran over to join them, and began jumping up and down, making faces at Seamus. Seamus made faces back, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes. Brenden nearly fell to the ground in hysterics. He was grabbed from behind by Dan, who lifted Brenden and spun him around. It was all so much fun that Seamus suddenly despised his own lungs for feeling heavy and itchy.

Suddenly, the air was rent by the distant blare of alarms. Everyone stopped as though frozen, until each head turned in the direction the sound was coming from. Time held for a moment, and no one moved. Then, all at once, chaos exploded into being. Parents ran from their hovels to snatch up their children and bundle them off inside. The twins dropped their rags and hurried inside only to come out moments later carrying weapons. Brenden vanished, having been snatched away by his own mother.

Seamus watched, momentarily mesmerized, when he felt himself suddenly lifted away by his own mom. Fear welled in Seamus' small chest. He had not heard those alarms before, but he knew what they meant. His parents had told him about them. He clung to his mother and began to whimper nervously.

" It's okay, Seamus, everything will be all right," his mother assured in a voice cracked by terror. Seamus could feel her heart pounding, matching in time with his. She carried him from his room and down the small corridor into the front room. Eli was there, waiting at the door with a gauze rifle in hand. He tossed a blaster to Cassie, and the little family stood by the door in wait.

Both parents' breaths came and went quickly. Seamus buried his face in his mother's shoulder.

" Do you think they'll come this time?" Cassie asked.

" I don't know. Last time there was only one ship. Maybe it'll be the same now. Maybe they won't come at all."

The alarms kept sounding like the cry of a dying animal, but the village had gone completely silent. Seamus looked up for a moment to see his father looking out the window, watching with held breath. Suddenly, he tensed.

There came a high-pitched wail, louder than the alarms. Cassie's hold on Seamus became so tight he could hardly breathe, and he felt his mother's body shudder. Her breath came and went in gasping, fitful sobs.

" Oh no, no, no, no…"

The cries came closer, louder, each burrowing into Seamus' brain, feeding off his terror to grow into something large and unstoppable. He trembled and began to sob as well. They say when the cries came, so did the monsters.

Blaster fire erupted, and human cries mingled with monster cries.

" Stay here! Keep Seamus safe!" Eli said, and bolted out the door. Cassie's sobbing became all consuming, and she moved away from the door, backing down the hall to the bedroom.

Cassie set Harper on the bed, then stood by the door with her blaster at the ready. Outside the cries were deafening, and curiosity overcame Seamus' fear. He moved to the window by the bed and peered out.

What he saw made his eyes widen in both wonder and horror. The air lit up with the beams of blasters. Large, fur-covered bodies darted this way and that, too fast for Seamus to see. A man ran by, not his father, but a relative all the same. Suddenly, two hairy forms leaped out of nowhere to pounce on the man, and Seamus saw them for the first time. Claws made glistening with blood lifted to tear into the man as he lay screaming. One of the creatures lifted its bloodied head to howl its triumph, bearing rows of small, jagged teeth.

Just then, one of the terrible faces eclipsed the window, snarling and bearing its teeth. Seamus shrieked and fell back, trying to scramble away. Cassie heard her son's cry and turned, blasting the creature away and shattering the glass. She then hurried over to Seamus, lifting him up then dropping to the floor to push him beneath the bed.

" Stay there!" she said with terrified urgency. Seamus nodded, tears burning his eyes; his heart beating so fast he could barely breathe. Were these the monsters? Were these the beasts in the stories everyone told, in the games the twins played? Were these the things that his parents spoke of, and that made his mother cry when they did?

Seamus wanted to wake up, believing that he was in a nightmare. He covered his ears with his hands, trying to stifle out the shrieks, wails, and screams of terrible agony. Then he heard a scream above all other screams, his mother's scream.

Seamus' heart seemed to stop. He moved forward, just a little so he could see if she was all right. She was still there by the door, her face white, a perfect mask of terror. She was firing the blaster down the hall, then began to back slowly into the room, continuing to fire. Great shaggy bodies tried to poor into the room, but were killed one by one by the gun. Then one pounced on his mother, driving her back, only to receive a shot in the face.

It had created a distraction though, and two more entered. One went for his mother, who drove it back with a well-rounded kick. The other fell to all fours, moving to the bed. It's ugly face filled Seamus' vision, his entire mind, blocking out all else. All he saw was the terrible face with its sharp, bloody teeth and vicious leer. The wickedly curved claws reached out to Seamus, and he screamed. He tried to scramble back but the creature had him by the arm and was yanking him forward. Seamus tried to pull back, then felt terrible pain shoot through his arm and enter his body. He screamed again. The creature spit a strange, burning liquid into his face, and Seamus went limp, unable to move.

He was still aware though, aware of the creature pulling him out, only to go limp itself. His mother's face then replaced the terrible face of the Magog. She was sobbing, screaming, but the sounds were muffled echoes to him, like dream sounds. She reached for him, pulling him out to gather his paralyzed frame into her chest. She held him tightly, rocking back and forth, crying a storm. Seamus felt her hot tears on his cheek but could not move. He felt very tired and wanted to seep, but feared sleep. He could still hear the monsters.

His mother screamed again, but this time it was a scream of rage. Seamus felt himself lifted up, heard distantly the screams of the Magog as they died. Then darkness covered his vision, the face of the monster hovering in his mind, waiting, never to leave.

AAAAAAAAAAAA

They were dead. The twins were dead. They had to die, Seamus' mother said. The monsters had made them sick, they had put their eggs into them. They were shot just as the baby Magog were emerging. Harper had seen it, though he could not move yet. His mother was still holding him as she stood with others, watching helplessly the twins' suffering. The twins were in so much pain, writhing and crying in agony, begging to be killed. Uncle Silus, Eli's brother, had done it since Cody, his sister's husband, could not.

When Seamus was able to move again, the first thing he did was cry. He cried until it hurt, until he ran out of tears. His mother was with him, holding him, rocking him back and forth. She was humming him a song, trying to sooth him, but he could not be soothed. When he closed his eyes he saw the monster, he felt the pain when it broke his thin arm, and the pain when it spat the liquid in his face. He still heard the screams, and the pleas of his cousins. It all hurt so much that he wished he could wake up. This had to be a dream; it was too terrible to be anything else.

" We were lucky this time," he heard his father say, his voice husky and hoarse. Seamus sniffed and shuddered. His mother rubbed his small back.

" We can't," his mother said, sniffing as well.

" Two Magog ships, Cassie. Two. We lost so many. The twins, Cal, Emily, Marcus, Jack, Meg, and Stephen. We almost lost Seamus."

Cassie wept, and Seamus felt more of her tears drop onto his neck. " They'll hurt him," she gasped, holding Seamus tightly.

" But he might have a better chance of surviving."

" They'll take him away," Cassie countered.

" Cassie, we don't have a choice. We tried, we almost made it, but the Magog are coming more and more. We won't survive out here. None of us will."

So it was that they left, leaving what was the dream, and entering a new nightmare.


	2. Ch 2 9yrs Old

Another small taste of Harper's life on earth. I am building up to something. The next chapter will come soon, I promise. This is only the beggining.

Ch. 2

9 yrs. Old

The children moved like rats, scurrying from shadow to garbage pile to decimated building one by one, gathering together to huddle in corners and do it again. They kept mostly to the old, crumbling structures that had once been Bostonian homes long before the destruction. Now they were nothing more than empty shells to hide in when the Dragans were on patrol and in a sour mood.

The children knew the area as well as they knew themselves, and over time had created paths so deeply ingrained in their memories that they did not even have to think about where they were going. They simply went, and an unconscious part of their minds would guide them.

Also committed to memory were the schedules of the various patrols and gangs that wandered about. It was late afternoon now, and that meant certain areas would be open for the children to play freely. They were moving toward one of these places now, dodging and ducking where they could, then holding perfectly still when a Dragan or patrol ship passed by.

They soon came to the place that would be open to them for a time. They stopped ducking and darting to straighten and walk as though no Dragans were around at all.

" Man that Silver Surfer guy is awesome. Did you read where he was being attacked by that sea monster…?" Seamus began, talking near to a mile a minute. They had just been released from another of the secret tutorials held by Mrs. Carlson. Though not officially illegal, the ubers weren't too keen on their slaves gaining any intellect, and enjoyed stifling any attempts at any trying to do so.

Seamus loved the classes, mostly because it ticked the ubers off so much, and also because he excelled at it.

Brenden rolled his eyes, picking up a piece of scrap from a junk pile and tossing it roughly away.

" Seamus, can it! We don't read as fast as you, we haven't gotten there yet. Stop giving it away!"

" I want to know!" piped Amber, his six-year-old sister. Brenden shot her a withering look.

" You're not even reading it."

Seamus continued to ramble on about the comic book when his friend Mark gave him a rough shove. Seamus went on all the same, just to annoy him, then shoved him back. The two got into a shoving match, laughing loudly.

" You're a big-mouth, Seamus," Mark said good-naturedly. He was a quiet boy, the kind the ubers usually ignored since he didn't attract much attention. He was slightly taller than Seamus, with dark, nearly black hair cut short like the rest of the boys, and a long, sharp face.

" Yeah Seamus," Amber replied, shoving him as well. She tended to take sides rather quickly. Seamus shoved her back, but less rough since she was the only person Seamus knew that was smaller than him, but only because she was younger.

" I prefer articulate," Seamus said proudly.

" What's that mean?" Mark asked.

" It means… uh…"

" It's just a fancy word for big mouth," Brenden replied. Being the tallest of the bunch had automatically made him the leader. Besides Amber and Mark there was also Kyle, Lee, Anna, and Mick who were chattering amongst themselves. They all followed Brenden without question, not simply because of his height, but also because of his more advanced uber-smarts. He knew the Dragans, simply because he liked to know what could be used against them, and also how to avoid them.

They came to a wall and one by one squeezed through a large crack to the other side. Junk of various types was piled everywhere, enough to pick through for years to come. The children's attention, however, was diverted to a large garbage hill crawling with other kids. The group hurried over to join with their fellow kludges, and a game of Take the Hill soon ensued.

It was the Harpers, Laheys, and Brodies against the Johansens, Smits, and Henriksons. Since to them those who attack were always bad, and those who defended always good, they made the holders of the hill High Guard and the attackers Dragans. The defenders would throw harmless bits of garbage at the attackers, and the attackers throw in turn, trying to drive eachother back.

There was among the children a deep-seated hatred for the Nietzcheans, and that hatred began spilling over into their game. Throwing became pushing, and the hill of junk was precarious enough as it was to climb. Seamus and Amber had it the worst. Either they were driven off the hill or never able to reach the top and drive the defenders away. It was frustrating Seamus, humiliating him, and his anger escalated. While being an attacker, he let out a vicious cry and charged up the hill, straight at Nicholas Smits, a boy even taller than Brenden.

It took only one shove for Nicholas to send Seamus toppling and rolling down the hill. When this happened, Brenden cried out for a halt and hurried down the pile to check on his small cousin.

" Seamus, you okay man?"

Seamus lay motionless at the foot of the heap, waiting for the world to stop spinning. He moaned and rolled onto his back to look up at the gray, sooty sky.

" I would like to say that was fun, but I would be lying."

Brenden stood over him, shaking his head. He then reached out his hand, which Seamus took, and helped the smaller boy up. Seamus shook his head clear while Brenden and the other kids looked him over for cuts. Even the smallest cut could be deadly, they all knew. The other team stood off to the side, watching with apparent worry.

" Is he all right?" Nick asked sheepishly. Brenden looked at him scathingly.

" Yeah, but he might not have been. You shouldn't have shoved him like that."

" He was coming after me like a psycho!" Nick snapped. Brenden moved toward Nick in a menacing way, but was stopped when Seamus grabbed his arm.

" Hey, Brenden, come on man. It ain't worth getting cut up over. Besides, he's right. It's my fault."

Dave Johansen, a boy a little older than Brenden and Seamus, folded his arms and glared at the two boys. " That little runt shouldn't even be playing. Neither of those two should," he said, meaning both Seamus and Amber.

This made Seamus' blood boil. It was bad enough when an uber called him a runt, but he sure as hll wasn't going to take it from a fellow human. He leaped at Dave, knocking him to the ground, and would have proceeded with punching him if Brenden and Mark hadn't of pulled him off. Dave's own gang held him back, and the noise of the children was deafening as they barked insults at eachother.

Suddenly, Amber screamed, dropping to the ground. The noise died quickly and everyone turned to her with pale faces.

" What!" Brenden cried, dropping beside his little sister. She was holding her foot, and blood was staining her ragged, hole-covered shoe.

" I think I stepped on something sharp," she said in a voice choked by fear.

Brenden turned, presenting his back to her. " Climb on, I'll take you home so mom can clean it. Don't touch it!"

The other kids helped Amber onto Brenden's back, and he slowly stood, grunting with the effort even her slight weight caused.

" You coming Seamus?" Brenden asked.

Seamus looked around at the many piles of junk. He had come here to collect, not really to play, and there was still time to do that.

" Naw, you go ahead. There's a few things I want to find."

Brenden nodded, and with Mark helping to support Amber hurried off. Once the crisis seemed past, the children split up to dig through the junk as though the previous confrontation had never taken place.

Seamus' sights were fixed mostly on wires and metal bits, which were easier to hide. He stuffed wires into his ragged boots, the pockets of his frayed pants, and even weaved some through the flimsy material of his shirt. Metal pieces he stuck in his belt. Anything larger he gathered in a small crate to hide on his way home and pick up later when he could. Though it was all junk, the Dragans would still dish out ample punishment if any of it were found on a kludge. Seamus had a system though. There were small piles of junk near his home, and also along the paths he took to the safe places. He knew how to hide what he needed, as well as anything he happened to build, all in a way so that the ubers were none the wiser.

Today he seemed to be hitting the jackpot. He was trying to build his mother something that would help to purify water. Uncle Ike, Brenden's dad, was helping him in doing so, since the cleaner the water the cleaner the body or so Ike said.

Seamus went from one pile to the next, finding and gathering all that Ike said they needed. This water purifier thing might just work out after all.

Seamus became lost in his search; his mind so set on finding what he needed that he became oblivious to all else. So he did not here the warning hiss of the other children, or see them flee to the crumbling buildings, the holes leading underground, and the shadows. He was aware of little as he dug through rubble, careful not to cut his hands and risk another infection.

So when the towering shadow spread over him, only then did Seamus know what was going on, and that it was too late. He froze, his hand partially stretched in reach for a plate of steel. Fear swelled in his chest, his heart thrumming painfully, his muscles contracting tightly until he was trembling. Slowly, not wanting to yet unable to stop himself, he turned and looked up.

The uber patrolman stared at Seamus, almost curiously. Then a smile crept slowly over the Nietzchean's square features.

" What have we here?" the uber muttered under his breath. Seamus tried to shrink away from the giant uber, then tried to bolt only to be snatched by the collar and tossed roughly to the ground. Seamus tried to scramble away, only to encounter another patrolman. This one kicked Seamus in the face.

" Stay down, you filthy little kludge!" the man snarled, and kicked Seamus in the chest. Seamus cried out pitifully, rolling into a tight ball. The first uber stalked over to the small boy, nudging him in the spine with the toe of his boot.

" Come on now, little kludge, get up. We won't hurt you, we promise. We just want all the stuff you took."

Stifled with panic, unable to think clearly, Seamus began removing the wires and metal pieces from his clothes, tossing them at the first ubers feet as though it were an offering. Other Nietzcheans surrounded Seamus, and all he could do was cringe and tremble in fright.

" Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" the first uber said, and his smile became a wicked leer.

AAAAAAAAAAA

Eli Harper was combing the garbage outside the crumbling building that served as the family home. He was searching out food, rats or mice if they could be found. Ike had been helping him but then had to go and help his daughter with a cut she had received on her foot. It unnerved Eli that Seamus had not been with Brenden and Amber when they came hurrying in, but Brenden had assured his uncle that Seamus was still with friends.

All the same, the unease did not leave Eli. It had not since Seamus and his cousins and friends had snuck off to play immediately after lessons. They were always slipping away after class, and most of the time it was over looked, especially since there was no stopping them. Today, however, Eli was unable to overlook it, especially with Amber getting hurt. Eli promised to ground the kid for a week, never leaving even for lessons, the moment Seamus finally got home.

Seamus did not need lessons anyway. The boy had intelligence; manifested through the odd little mechanical trinkets he created. Ike, being mechanically inclined himself, had taught Seamus everything he knew. Now it seemed Seamus might be reaching the point where he could teach Ike a few things.

Shouting echoed from somewhere nearby. Eli paused in his hunt to look up in time to see a figure come racing out from a nearby ruin, running with everything he had. Eli's first thought was that it was Seamus and that he had been caught carrying off more junk again. But as the figure swiftly neared, Eli realized that it was Mark. The boy was a picture of terror, his face white and his eyes wide.

Eli became apprehensious, but held back his own rising fear. He moved toward Mark to catch the boy before he could run by.

" Whoa! Mark, what's the hurry? Where's Seamus?"

Mark was panting heavily, sweat drenching his clothes. He looked over his shoulder, then all around, his fear turning to panic.

" I-I don't know. I thought he was behind me…"

Eli dropped to his knees abruptly to look Mark straight in the eyes. " Mark, tell me what happened."

Mark gasped for more air. " Patrols… They came early…"

That was all Eli heard, and all he allowed himself to hear, before bolting off. He did not need to know where to go. He knew of the places the children played at, knew those places that were safe during certain times of the day. He broke into a run until he came to the building, ducking and dodging as the children do. He kept a fast pace, even while diving behind piles of junk and debris whenever a patrol was spotted.

Eli's heart pounded madly, and his mouth was dry. He moved from shadow to shadow, scanning every hole, nook, and cranny for signs of his only son. The last time Seamus had been late coming home, Eli had found him crammed into a crack in a wall, waiting out a patrol, but too afraid to move when it had gone. Seamus was probably huddled in another hole somewhere right now. Eli silently prayed that he was.

The place he sought was not far, but the patrolling ubers were making the going long and arduous. Eli was forced to wait until patrols passed, pressing himself against walls or into the ground. It was costing him not only precious minutes but hours as well. The day was late and growing later. Dusk was approaching, the light of day was waning, and soon the curfew would begin. Eli was running out of time.

Then, after what seemed an eternity of moving and hiding, he came to where the children would have been playing. There were no visible patrols as far as Eli could see, but that did not mean they weren't there. He made his way slowly around the piles of metal, wire, and other such garbage that Seamus thought such a treasure. He was about to dart to another pile when he spotted an uber walking casually by with weapon in hand. Eli ducked back around the pile he had been crouched by, pressing his back into it as far as he could. He waited several heartbeats before peering around again. The uber had gone, so Eli made a break.

Eli crawled around the base of the next pile, and peered around. When he did, the breath caught in his throat.

A small body lay sprawled just within arm's reach, covered with blood and unmoving. Eli's heart beat so fiercely that he could not breathe properly. He moved toward the body, numbed all over, seeming to float on terror. Seamus' face was caked with blood that poured from his nose and various cuts on his face. Blood stained his clothes, and his arm was bent at an impossible angle.

Bile rose burning into Eli's throat. He swallowed it back, and reached out a trembling hand toward his son. He felt Seamus' wrist for a pulse, and to his utter, weakening relief found it. He then moved closer to his son and gently lifted the boy to gather him in his arms.

Seamus stiffened, gasping with his eyes flying open. He tried to push free of Eli's hold, but his attempts were feeble.

" Seamus," Eli whispered with a sob, tears dripping from his eyes. " Seamus, calm down, you'll be all right."

Eli lifted his son's head so that Seamus could see his father's face. The eyelids fluttered, and the thin body relaxed.

" Sorry dad," Seamus said in a weak, hoarse voice. " Wasn't paying attention." The boy then sucked in a sharp breath, wincing in pain. Eli could feel his son's bones even as he held him, and so knew what was broken. More tears burned in Eli's eyes, both of sorrow and of fury. Lifting Seamus up, he hurried back the way he had come, sacrificing caution yet managing, perhaps out of long practice or plain luck, to avoid the patrols. Curfew was coming fast, and soon ubers would be everywhere.

There were more shadows now that helped, and Eli managed to arrive home just as the sirens blared, announcing the curfew hour. Eli slipped inside the shelter where Cassie was waiting at the rusty table, her face wet and glittering with tears. But as soon as she saw the broken body of her son, the tears fell anew.

" No, no, no…" she sobbed. She stood and followed Eli through the door into the next room, and then the room beyond that where they slept. He lay Seamus on the blankets spread about the floor that served as bedding. Seamus let out a whimper of pain, clinging tightly to Eli's sleeve. Saddened, sickened, Eli was forced to remove his son's feeble grip so he could look him over.

" Get Ike and Merissa," Eli told Cassie. His wife had her hands over her mouth, and her body shook with weeping. She nodded then hurried out the door and through another door that joined their shelter with Cassie's brother. Ike and his wife Merissa came quickly. Cassie dropped to her knees by her son's side, taking his hand into hers.

Ike knelt by Eli, while Merissa went to get some water and cloths.

Isaac was a grizzled looking wiry man with iron gray hair and white stubble on a scarred face. He rubbed at his chin, his ice-blue eyes troubled in a way that deepened Eli's own fear.

" Oh Eli, this looks bad," he said, shaking his head with a grimace of pity.

Eli sucked in a sharp breath. " He's just a kid. They didn't need to do this."

Ike snorted out a derisive laugh. " They're ubers. I'm surprised they didn't kill the poor kid. I know it may sound harsh, but you should be thankful Seamus is still alive. We can help him, Eli. It just may take some time."

Ike then looked down at Seamus. The boy's breath was coming quick, and his face was screwed up into a look of terrible agony. Ike then moved his gaze to Seamus' twisted arm. He carefully took the arm, lifting it slightly.

" We'll start here." He looked up at Cassie. " Don't let go of his hand. And be ready."

Merissa returned with a pot of water, some rags, and a bottle of alcohol that Eli had made with his still. She set the items beside Ike, then stepped back, turning her face away.

Eli took hold of Seamus' upper arm, and Ike took hold of the lower. The arm was so thin, like a twig, was Eli's thought, and nausea roiled in his gut.

Ike took a deep breath, his face ashen. " Stay strong," he said. " Both of you."

They then pulled. The bones cracked and grated. Young Seamus Harper screamed.


	3. Ch 3 16yrs old

Poor Harper. Seems he can't do anything right. I would like to thank those who read and reviewed. Hugs to you all! If I could give you gift baskets I would.

Ch. 3

16 Yrs. Old

Seamus crouched in the darkness of the alley, soaked through his clothes to the skin in putrid rain. He trembled, not so much from cold, but with an unquenchable rage. He was waiting with a patience that was wearing thin like a leash trying to hold back a starving Magog.

It was the Magogs' fault he was out in the rain, hiding in the darkness, waiting like a predator. Their recent attack had caused a food shortage in the camps, with the Nietzcheans taking everything to use in holding back the swarms. Seamus was surprised at himself that he had even left the hovel, but hunger, and necessity, had forced him to do it. Besides, the Magog monsters had yet to return for five days.

The few lights cast a weak glow on the slick, filthy streets cluttered with garbage, debris, and who knew what else. Seamus watched those streets with and interest as hungry as he was. They were empty thanks to the rain and fear of another attack, so for once Seamus had an advantage.

Then he heard it, the rhythmic splash that could only be caused by hurrying footsteps. Seamus tensed every muscle his scrawny body possessed, crouching lower into the shadows and gripping the iron pipe tighter in his fist.

The man walked quickly by the alley; drenched in his own shadows created by the wan lights of the street. Seamus took that moment to emerge, hurrying out, nearly slipping, and scrabbled after the man.

" Hey Marlow!" Seamus shouted, and just as the man was about to turn Seamus raised the pipe to bring it down on the man's head in one hard blow. The man crumpled to the wet street with blood dripping from his scalp. Seamus tossed the pipe away then began rummaging through the man's neat attire, grinning all the while at his own cunning. Marlow was probably more predictable than a mad uber. He always took the same routes where ever he went.

Marlow had been well fed, Seamus could tell. There were no bones to be felt clearly. It confirmed Seamus' suspicions that this was indeed the man who had betrayed one of the Brodie clan to the ubers. Mark's aunt and uncle had been hiding their children from the slavers, but Marlow, a food vendor, had discovered this and ratted them out. Or at least that had been the suspicion. After all, no one but the traitors ever wore fine clothes and looked well fed.

Thus had Marlow become a target, and Seamus was getting his share of him. Not only that, Seamus had witnessed the man receiving more food from an uber solider as payment for future 'use'. He searched the traitor's clothes thoroughly until he finally came upon a chunk of something wrapped in a cloth, hidden in the man's coat. Seamus pulled back the cloth and his mouth salivated at the sight of strong smelling cheese.

Seamus bit into the cheese, devouring as much as he could with uncontrolled ferocity, then forcing himself to stop before he ate the whole thing. Others deserved a share of this food. Other deserved compensation. So Seamus wrapped the cheese back up and hid it in the hole-less pocket of his pants. He then stood, hunching his shoulders against the rain to hurry away from Marlow before (or if) he ever awoke. Let the ubers have him, he deserved it.

Seamus hurried through various streets, junk piles, fence-holes, and decayed buildings toward the uber hangar. Lights spilled warm and golden from the massive doors of the huge building. Seamus slowed as he approached the security gate where two massive Dragans stood guard. The skinny boy tried straightening as tall as he could go, but cringing was involuntary when one was around an armed uber, let alone two. Seamus approached the two slowly; reaching into the pocket of his ragged jacket for the crumpled pass his uncle had given him.

Seamus held the pass out in a trembling hand to the guards as the rain beat viciously at his back. The heavy clouds had turned day into night, and the lights from the lamps above the ubers made their features sharp and menacing. The dark-haired guard snatched the pass from Seamus, looking it over once, then tossing it back so that Seamus was forced to pick it up. He tensed when he did so, but received no blow to the face or kick to the ribs as most ubers do when they drop something for a kludge to pick up.

Seamus did not even look at the guards as he hurried by. He let out a long, slow breath of relief, then took off at a run for the hangar.

Inside were lines of air-patrol ships as far as Seamus could see. The room reverberated with the sounds of repairs and the shouts of voices. Sparks flew from various ships in the process of being welded, and tools clattered constantly. Seamus grinned despite the presence of so many ubers. He loved, more than anything, helping his uncle make repairs. He felt he learned more in the hangar than he ever could at the secret classes.

Seamus shook the water from his mussed hair, only to be shoved violently to the floor when some of it landed on a passing Dragan.

" Watch it, dog!" the uber growled. Seamus shrank back, expecting to be kicked.

" S-sorry," he stuttered, but the uber had already continued on his way. Seamus scowled darkly. " Sorry it wasn't sludge that stained your precious uniform you oversized, stupid-head pretty boy…" he was tempted to pull out his shriller and give it a good blow, but prided himself on not being that stupid.

He picked himself up from the oily floor and hurried over to where Ike, Brenden, and Mark were working. The Dragans may not have liked it when a kludge got an education of any kind, yet neither did they let it go to waste. Ike's skills with mechanics made him valuable, an asset, and by having the boys assist his hope was to make them valuable as well. It did not make life better. It did not put more food on the table or earn better clothes, but it kept a man alive. As Seamus' dad always put it, it's about survival; you do what you can just to keep breathing.

Seamus saw his Uncle Isaac crouching on top of one of the patrol ships. His eyes were hidden behind dark goggles that flashed with the sparks of the weld. Ike looked up to see his nephew, and waved at the boy.

Seamus pulled his own goggles from another of his pockets and placed them around his neck for later. He then pulled out the cheese wrapped in cloth.

" Hey Mark my man!" he called. Mark stepped out from around the ship, and Seamus tossed him the cheese. " A little something from a mutual friend of ours. And by friend I mean, of course, dirty scum-bag."

Mark opened the cloth and his brown eyes rounded over. " Dang! Thanks Seamus." Mark then broke the cheese in thirds, downing his half, setting one aside on a small work bench for Ike, and tossing the other to Brenden who had come over to see Mark's prize. There was no reason to ask if Seamus had had his share.

Seamus snatched up a welder from the bench and made his way to the to the rocket end of the ship. He then snapped his goggles into place and removed the panel covering the wiring he had been working on the other day. The wires were a mesh of chaos, but it was organized chaos in Seamus' eyes. He began picking them apart in search of those that needed to be replaced. Brenden was working on the other side, pulling wires and replacing them with fresher ones.

" Man, what I wouldn't give to fly one of these babies," Harper muttered as he welded a new wire in place of an old one.

" Not so loud, Seamus," Brenden said, glancing around nervously without moving his head. Seamus moved over to the workbench, pretending to look the scattered tools over.

" Can't you see those stupid ubers running when we swoop in on 'em in one of these?"

Brenden smirked. Then pointed to his ears in warning.

" Yeah, yeah, I know, uber super hearing. But seriously, cos. We come at night, blow on a few shillers to keep the guards back, snag one of these and dump it when we're done. Blow a few barracks…"

Brenden, still grinning, shook his head. " Keep dreaming, cos. Let's just stick with what we can actually get. And keep it down," he hissed. " I think they're still pretty ticked about the last raid. There's been talk going around that they're still looking for the ones who did it."

Seamus picked up a wire cutter though he didn't need it. " They've been looking for us since the last five raids."

" Yeah, well I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little tired of being 'interrogated'."

Seamus felt suddenly queasy at the mention of interrogations. He still had a gash on his back that refused to heal right and so bled on occasion. But at least he had yet to spout anything that would get them all killed. It proved something, it seemed, though the ubers would never know it. Kludges were stronger than Nietzcheans thought.

Seamus went back to his tangle of wires, placing the wire-cutter in his pocket for later. " These things are junk anyway," he said after a time in order to quell his desire to take one. " But, man, the things I could do to one if they'd just let me. I could retrofit this thing so that it could leave atmosphere in a blink. Give it a slipstream core and we'd be makin' those ubers eat our space dust."

Brenden chuckled. " What do you know about slipstream? You haven't even been off this rock."

Seamus pointed his welder at Brenden. " Hey, I know a lot more than you think. Mrs. Carlson had a few old flexis about 'em she let me read personally. Said I would get them better than she could, and she's right, I do. I bet with the right crap I could build one."

" Oh," Brenden said. " So that's what all that crap is piled with the actual crap by the door."

" No, that's for my ship. I was just gonna steal a core. Probably be easier."

At this, Brenden doubled over in quiet laughter. He then straightened, resuming a serious air. " Seamus, you kill me."

Seamus shook his head. " Yeah, well at least I have a dream."

" Keep dreaming then. You're more likely to steal this piece of trash than a slipstream core. Unless, of course, part of your dream is dying a miserable death."

Seamus smirked. " Well, then, at least I can go saying I tried."

" You two better knock it off," Ike said from up top. " If I can hear you then you can both bet your skinny hides our 'kind employers' can."

Brenden waved dismissivly at his father. Ike shook his head, then vanished back over the top of the ship, only to appear a moment later.

" Trouble," he said. Both boys stopped to look up at the older man. Ike removed his goggles, the skin around his eyes made pale from the grease and soot on his face. He jerked his head back over his shoulder.

" Inspection time."

The two boys exchanged worried looks, then tossed their tools onto the bench. They removed their goggles, stepping back a few paces from the ship. Just as they did, a thick-armed uber with long blonde hair tied back in a tail approached. His uniform was sleeveless, letting the whole world know of his bulging muscles and spread bone blades. He gave the ship a cursory glance as though more interested in how it looked than how it functioned.

When he came to the back, Seamus tensed and averted his gaze to the floor like a humble servant. Though he was out of the way, the uber shoved him aside for effect. Seamus did not dare look up to see what the Nietzchean thought of their work. In truth, Seamus would not have cared, but a dissatisfied uber usually meant terrible pain.

" I've been hearing rumors," the blond uber said, " of thefts in the area. Minor things taken… but still. You two dogs wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Seamus' heart beat a rapid pulse, which was not good. Some ubers were said to be so audibly sensitive they could pick up a heartbeat if close enough.

" No sir," Brenden replied.

" No sir," Seamus echoed, his voice a little higher than normal. He chanced a brief glance up with only his eyes, and saw the uber studying the workbench littered with tools. It was then, with sudden terror, that Seamus remembered the wire cutter he had put in his pocket. He had forgotten about it. He had meant to use it eventually. If the uber found it in his pocket…

He started to tremble, though he tried to hold it in. Brenden shot him a look of profound worry, but all Seamus could do was shake his head.

" Something seems to be missing," the blonde Dragan said and he lightly brushed tools aside with the manner of one touching something unclean. Seamus felt ready to vomit. He chanced another glance in time to see the giant turn to face them. The uber then moved forward methodically, as though stalking. He moved directly toward Seamus, and Seamus cringed, his quaking increasing.

The uber towered over Seamus and folded his thick arms across his broad chest.

" You cold, kludge?" he asked. Seamus swallowed, trying to get his voice to work and his throat to stop constricting, but he could not.

" He – he's not well," Brenden replied. " He's been sick for some time…"

" I did not ask you, dog. I asked him."

The Nietzchean then placed his thick hand on Seamus' thin chest, and gradually began shoving the boy backward until he met the wall. He held Seamus there while he patted him down with his other hand, sneering in disgust.

" Bony little rat," the uber murmured. He then reached into the pocket of Seamus' coat and pulled out the wire cutters. Seamus widened his eyes in surprise, hoping…

" Hey, I was looking for those," he said in a quaking voice. " Totally forgot where I put them." He smacked his own forehead. " I'd forget where I put myself if I wasn't paying attention. Thanks."

He reached out to take the cutters only to have his hand smacked away. The uber's own hand began increasing the pressure on Seamus' chest.

" You know, just when we thought we had you Kludges taught, you go and do something like this, reminding us all why the Nietzchean race is so much better…"

The pressure increased, and Seamus was finding it difficult to breathe. Soon, he was unable to breathe at all. The uber dug his fingers and palm into Seamus' chest, pushing down on his sternum, preventing his ribcage from being able to spread and his lungs to expand. Seamus opened his mouth to emit a strangled squeak as he tried to inhale. Then pain began to radiate out from his sternum. His ribs creaked, creating more pain. Any more pressure and they would crack, crushing Seamus' lungs and heart.

A haze was filming over Seamus' eyes. He turned his gaze pleadingly toward Brenden who had now been joined by Ike and Mark. Brenden swallowed fearfully and stepped forward.

" He really did forget. He does it all the time," he said. Then Ike stepped forward, cringing slightly.

" Please, sir. He's a good kid, and a good mechanic. One of the best. I always make sure he doesn't walk off with anything, always. Please. I'm sorry he forgot, it won't happen again. Just please let him go."

The uber held his hand for a moment as the film deepened over Seamus' vision. Finally, after what seemed hours to Seamus but was only, in fact, a minute, the uber let off the pressure. Seamus gasped in a lungful of air despite the pain it caused in his chest. His legs became weak, and he began sliding down the wall, only to be lifted back up when the uber grabbed the front of his shirt.

" If I catch anything in his pockets again, I'll break his skinny kludge neck," the uber growled, and practically threw Seamus toward the others. Brenden and Ike caught him before he fell. The uber went back to his inspection, tossing the tool onto the workbench with a smirk.

Brenden and Ike helped Seamus to stand, then supported him while he caught his breath. He could not straighten, so leaned on Brenden's shoulder. He glared at the uber's back, but when the uber looked over his shoulder Seamus turned his eyes to the floor.

AAAAAAAAAAA

Seamus trudged home in the dying rain. The air was cold and his breath misted in the dark air. Soon the curfew siren would sound, and if Seamus were caught outside then he would suffer worse punishments.

Seamus was used to worse. He feared its coming, of course, since he'd rather not experience it. Yet after the fact he found that he could brush it aside easily enough. He knew how to ignore the pain, and even now was standing a little straighter, though the ache in his chest still existed. He had taught himself how to ignore it by excepting it and letting it happen. He could not let it get in his way, especially during the raids and attacks on the barracks.

The real worry lay in trying to explain the bruises on his chest to his mom and dad. The collar of his shirt was a little too big for him, so hung low. The bruises were already forming as dark splotches reaching up to his collarbones. Seamus kept trying to adjust the shirt in hopes of hiding it, but it kept slipping forward again. He knew that when his dad saw the bruises he would react by holding back his anger, stomping away into another room or turning away to busy himself with something else. When his mom saw them, she would go quiet and not speak for hours, then would act as though nothing had happened. Seamus hated seeing this, and the closer he came to home the sicker he felt.

Seamus had told Ike, Mark, and Brenden to go on ahead, saying he would only slow them down. But he could hear their voices not far away, and at times saw them looking back toward him when they crested a rise.

He was still the last to arrive at the decrepit building where they dwelt. He stopped only ten steps away from the entrance with its patchy metal sheet for a door. The rain that had been falling in a light drizzle began to pick up, so he had no choice but to go in.

His steps were hesitant as he approached, and he kept adjusting his shirt, futile though it was. He pulled the rusting door open and stepped into the long corridor. People shuffled by, giving him a momentary look of recognition. Swallowing hard, Seamus moved toward the door that led into the rooms that made up home.

Seamus swallowed again when he came to the door and pushed it open. He stepped into what was supposed to be the kitchen with the wash basin and stove. He saw his mother sitting at the table with her head in her hands. Seamus' heart beat faster.

" M-mom?"

She slowly lifted her head. The flickering light in the kitchen was poor, but it was enough to reveal the bruise on her eye and the dried blood under her nose. Seamus' eyes widened.

She lowered her eyes. " You're father doesn't know yet."

" What happened?" Seamus asked. Cassie wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve.

" Do you really have to ask?"

Seamus shrugged. " Guess it's a habit."

Cassie nodded, then her gaze went straight to Seamus' chest and the darkening bruises. Her own eyes rounded over.

" What happened?"

Seamus smiled wanly. " You really have to ask?"

Cassie smiled in return, and both allowed themselves a quiet laugh.


	4. Ch 4 17yrs old

Nietzchean is not a fun word to spell. Thank goodness for uber.

Ch. 4

17 Yrs. old

Mark quietly paced the narrow hallway as Seamus stuffed the grenades into a patchwork duffel. He kept glancing at Mark whose thin body was rigid as a pipe.

" You don't have to go, you know," Seamus said.

Mark kept slapping his shriller into his palm. " I know."

" You said you weren't feeling good. That's reason enough."

Mark shook his head. " I want to go."

" Yeah, right," Harper grumbled.

" No, I do, really. It's a distraction run, those aren't so bad."

Seamus closed the bag with two hard pulls on the strength. " Not bad? We talking about the same thing here? I'd rather be part of the attack on the hangar. But hey, I suppose if a few ubers lose a few body parts in the process then it's all good. It'll serve 'em right for the beating they gave my dad yesterday."

Mark began twirling his shriller and nodded absent-mindedly. " True. You can't pass up a good noise-run. I just… I don't know Seamus. We've been doing so many lately every since we joined with the Johansen gang, and the ubers have been on us like fleas. I don't know if my back can take any more lashes, it's starting to look like ground rat-meat. And what if we get caught this time?"

Seamus narrowed his eyes, lifting the bag to heft it over his shoulder. " You say that every run, Mark." Seamus' legs almost gave out from the weight of the bag, and Mark had to catch him to help him back up.

" The ubers are getting closer, I know it. They'll find us out."

Seamus staggered until he finally leaned against the stained wall for support. He slapped Mark's shoulder in good nature. " Mark, pal, what's our motto?"

" Survive as one."

" Exactly. We all stick by eachother and blame everything on the nearest traitor we know. Yeah, sure, it hasn't worked so far, but it's still fun to try. We'll have your back, Mark, I promise."

Mark nodded stiffly, just as Brenden walked in, tossing his shriller and catching it with a triumphant smile on his face.

" The Johansen boys are in place. Time to go play a game with the ubers."

Seamus smiled wickedly, and even Mark could not help a slight smirk of his own. Mark took the end of the bag and helped Seamus to carry it outside. They then began the arduous process of slipping undetected past the various curfew patrols, ducking behind ruins, piles, into holes, and beneath bridges. When they came to the concrete canal they carefully slid down it into ankle-high murky water cluttered with old ship frames and hulls.

They had no way of contacting the Johansens, and no way of telling the passage of time, so everything would rely on the noise created by the chaos. Brenden, Mark, and Seamus were making their way to the uber barracks near the hangar, paying careful attention to their path so they could retrace it when they fled.

When they came to the demolished bridge with its center blown away and beams sticking out like bare bones, they climbed out of the canal and moved like rats to the protective fence around the barracks.

This was where Seamus Harper's genius could finally be put to use other than slapping together tiny, useless robots. He pulled a metal box from his bag, complete with several jump starter cables. He placed each cable on the wire of the fence until a large half circle was created. Then he and Brenden proceeded to cut the electric free wire away as the cables altered the current through the box. Once the hole was formed they crawled through, dragging the bag with them.

The barracks were a cluster of those buildings less damaged than the surrounding buildings of Boston. Ubers were everywhere; pacing the grounds, stalking the roofs, and following along the fences. The small group of boys needed to act quickly before a patrolling uber came upon the hole in the fence. Each boy exchanged intense looks expressing excitement as well as betraying their fear. Seamus opened the bag of explosives, each boy taking as many as he could. Then they put their shrillers to their mouths, set the timers for the grenades, pulled back their arms, and blew the shrillers just as they released.

The grenades were powerful; creating an explosion that tore the air and unleashed a towering ball of flame. Pieces of barrack structure flew everywhere, along with several bodies.

The boys laughed hysterical with both overpowering elation and utter terror. They then stood and began running about, blowing on the shrillers and tossing explosives anywhere they could. Chaos ensued as ubers came spilling from their shelters like ants, spreading out to seek their attackers.

Several ubers fell to their knees while covering their ears. Others only cringing managed to get off a few shots at the thin bodies darting by. But the boys were small and quick compared to the Dragan soldiers. They did not stop running as they lobbed of the explosives. Pieces of buildings and even body parts fell after each explosion. Seamus, feeling suddenly brave, ran a little closer, tossing a grenade through a window, then running away. It was much like the games they had played when they were children. They were attacking, yes, but they had since learned that the attackers could be the good guys as well. Attacking could be a kind of defense as well.

Seamus' heart raced and his blood burned with adrenaline. He ran so fast that he felt as though he were flying. It was a wondrous feeling of the kind he hoped would go on forever. Had he wings, he would have never touched the ground again. He was running toward the night, toward the stars, even away from the planet. It was as though he were running to a place beyond the system where both ubers and Magog would never be able to find him again, all while leaving destruction in his wake. He felt invincible, like one of the High Guard war ships his teacher had shown them on a singed flexi.

In his elation, Seamus shouted out a long whoop of joy, then began laughing wildly as he tossed off another bomb. Dangerous as these runs were, frightened as he felt before them, he loved them all the same. They made his life more than what it was, and gave him something to look forward to when tomorrow came. It was the closest he ever came to true freedom.

And then it ended when pain exploded in his shoulder. He fell chest first into the dirt, dropping both his shriller and grenades to clutch at his searing arm, crying out with the agony it caused him.

He rolled onto his side and lifted his hand away to see blood smeared on his fingers and palm. He then angled his neck to look at his shoulder. The sleeve of his jacket was singed near the shoulder, and blood was already staining the rim of the hole created. But it was not as bad as it looked. He had been grazed rather than the blast puncturing through the arm itself, shattering the bone.

But the pain was excruciating, and stars flashed before his vision. Then he heard the heavy but quick tromp of boots. Fear cleared his head, and he looked back to see an uber running straight at him with gauze rifle lifted and aimed.

Panic took hold of Seamus. He sucked in a ragged breath then reached out for his shriller. It was only an inch from his finger, but he did not have strength enough to get back up. He stretched, scooting his body forward as best he could while behind him the footfalls became louder than the noises around him.

" Don't move rat!" the uber snarled.

Seamus managed to get his middle finger on the shriller. He moved it carefully toward himself, then snatched it up just as the uber stomped his heavy foot down on Seamus' back. Seamus cried out again, but cut it short when he blew into the thin metal pipe, emitting a terrible shrill. Now it was the Dragan soldier who cried out, stumbling back to get away from the terrible sound.

Seamus kept blowing as he struggled to his feet and hobbled away. He fell several more times, and each time found it harder to get back up again. He knew, with a terrified certainty, that he would never make it to the fence and out.

" Seamus!" Someone called. Seamus squinted against the light of the blazing buildings and his haze of pain to see a narrow-bodied figure running quickly toward him.

" Brenden?"

Brenden did not stop, only slow to get Seamus' arm around his neck and help the smaller boy to the hole in the fence. Behind them a shriller continued to sound.

Seamus' heart leaped into his throat and he tried to pull away from his cousin.

" No, wait! Mark, we need to get Mark!"

Seamus tried to turn and go back, but Brenden continued to haul him toward the fence. Though both boys were mal-nourished, Brenden was the stronger since Seamus was wounded.

" No!" Brenden said between gritted teeth. " I'll get him. You get out of here."

The shriller continued to sound more and more, faster and faster like a desperate cry for help. It pierced even their ears, stabbing into their hearts, and making them move quicker so that Brenden could go back and find their friend.

Then, when they came to the hole in the fence, a blaster fired. The whistle of the shriller ended abruptly. Both boys stopped and turned.

" Mark," Seamus mouthed. His heart lurched, and the heat that had burning in his blood turned to ice.

" Mark!" he screamed, trying to pull away from Brenden. Tears flooded his eyes to blur the world around him. Brenden continued to hold him back, then began dragging him through the hole.

" Mark No! No!" Seamus screamed, over and over, his voice ripping from his throat like a dagger. " Nooooooo!"

Brenden pulled him through the hole though Seamus clawed at the dirt and fence to pull free.

" We have to go back!" Seamus shrieked. " We have to get him! I promised! I promised him he would be okay!"

" It's too late, Seamus!" Brenden cried. He dragged Seamus to the rim of the canal, and both boys tumbled down into its safety. Brenden then grabbed a struggling Seamus by the shoulders, forcing him around. He took the smaller boy's face in his hands, forcing him to look him in his eyes.

" Seamus! It's too late! He's gone!" Tears fell from Brenden's eyes, and his hands began to tremble. He swallowed. " Mark's gone man… He's gone."

Seamus stared at Brenden in disbelief, sick with sorrow, terror, anger, and hopelessness.

" I promised him Brenden. I promised him." Seamus began shivering, his body strangely cold and numb, though his throat and arm ached horribly. Brenden gathered his cousin, who had always been like a little brother to him, into a fierce hug.

" I know man," Brenden said in a choked voice. " We both did. We both did. But we can't stay. We have to get back. We have to live… then we can mourn."

AAAAAAAAAAAA

Cassie could not sleep, though she was weary to the bone. She felt cold all over, and terrible images kept flashing through her mind every time she closed her eyes.

Seamus was not in the sleeping room, curled in his corner on the dirty cushions and blankets that made his bed. She did not see him leave. She had been asleep then, but awoke from a nightmare. She had heard the steady breathing of her husband beside her, but not the troubled moans and fearful whimpers of her son lost in another dream of pain, writhing with the discomfort of hunger.

She did not sit up to confirm her suspicions though. She did not want to, not this time. He was on another run, which was something she could never stop him from doing no matter how Eli and herself tried. There was something about those runs that seemed to scratch a never-ending itch Seamus always had. Somehow, it made life easier for him, and quelled his constant anger. So despite the worry that made her stomach clench, she had given up on trying to stop him. Besides, in a way, a small part of her was glad he did them. He was fighting against the ubers, and if one had to die sooner than later, it would be a better end for the boy; to die as a wolf rather than a mule, as her father had once said hours before he had been executed.

Had she her way, Seamus would live to be an old man, with children of his own. But she had yet to get anything her way.

" Aunt Cassie?"

The voice was a whisper, but it broke the silence like a gun. Cassie lifted her head to see the outline of a head peeking through the door of the sleeping room. She did not dare turn on any lights that a patrolling uber might see.

" Brenden?" Her heart started beating faster, and a chill tread down her back. " What is it? Where's Seamus?"

" He's here. But – but he's hurt."

Cassie threw back the blankets, being careful not to wake her husband who needed the rest more than she did right now. She walked softly from the room, then quickened her pace to follow Brenden into the kitchen. The ragged curtains of the misshapen windows had already been closed, and one of Seamus' crudely made flashlights was standing upright on the table.

Seamus was sitting at the table with his shoulders hunched. Cassie could see by the light his red eyes and the tear stains on his face. She could also see the ragged hole in his sleeve, and the bloody wound on his arm.

" What happened?" she asked. On seeing Seamus alive and home, she had managed to gather her fear deeper within herself and hold it there so that she could think clearly.

" The run… It went wrong. We lost – lost Mark," Brenden replied in a thick voice. Cassie turned to him in horror.

" Mark?"

Brenden looked to the floor to hide the tears trying to resurface. " He… didn't make it."

Cassie put her hand on her nephew's bony shoulder. " Oh Brenden, I'm so sorry. Does his family know yet?"

Brenden shook his head.

" You need me to tell them?"

Brenden shook his head again, then looked up to meet Cassie's gaze. " I'll tell them. I'll tell them now."

He then left the small room through the door. Cassie watched him go, sorrow intertwining with relief. They had lost one, but two had survived. It was a cold thought yet she could not help it.

She turned back to her son, who sat perfectly still and quiet except for the occasional tremor in his shoulders. She set aside her sadness for Mark and his family, and went to the left side corner of the kitchen where her husband hid his moonshine. She knelt and lifted a panel in the floor, then removed one of the dirty bottles within. She took a dry rag from a crooked shelf and moved over to Seamus' side. She then began removing his jacket in a meticulous way so as to hurt him as little as possible. He did not react except for a slight wince when she pulled the material free of the burnt flesh. She then pulled the collar of his shirt over his shoulder, almost down to the elbow.

" Seamus?" she said, since her son had yet to respond. She took the cloth and poured the alcohol onto it, soaking it through. She then placed it gently over the wound, and when she did Seamus sucked in a sharp, hissing breath.

" Sorry kid," she said, smoothing back his spiked hair. " I know it hurts."

" It doesn't last forever," he quietly said.

" I meant about Mark."

Seamus lowered his gaze. " I know."

Cassie tilted her head to one side. " It's okay to feel sad for him. You three were like brothers."

Seamus sighed a shuddering breath. " He didn't want to go. He was acting really scared and he wasn't feeling well. I promised him that nothing would happen to him."

Cassie squinted her eyes thoughtfully. " Did you make him go?"

Seamus shook his head no.

" Then it wasn't your fault. It was his choice."

" I think he thought we would look at him like a coward if he didn't," Seamus replied.

" It was still his choice. You can't make anyone do anything Seamus. And you can't save everyone. This is a dangerous game you're playing, these runs. I always hate it when you go on them. It's death waiting to happen, Seamus. It's anti-survival."

Seamus looked at his mother, and anger blazed in his eyes. " They deserve it. Someone has to fight back. Someone has to show them we're not just dogs to be kicked around."

" But it only makes things worse," Cassie said, almost pleading. " The Dragans don't care what we're capable of. You kill one of them; they take away ten of us or kill fifty of us. We are the ones forced to learn, Seamus, not the other way around. The ubers will never see us for anything else but kludges. There is no winning against them."

Seamus looked away again. " We can at least try."

Cassie began rubbing her son's back along his protruding backbone.

" I know kid. I just wish it wasn't the case. I don't want anything to happen to you Seamus. You're all we got. We want you to survive, for as long as you can."

" Why?" Seamus asked, still looking away. " What's the point?"

Cassie shrugged. " 'Cause you never know what might come. You just never know…"


	5. Ch 5 18yrs old

I'm not big on swearing even if it seems necessary, so I've done a little sensoring.

Ch. 5

18 Yrs. Old

" This birthday bites," Seamus snapped. His words were muffled by the cloth covering his head, which was lowered over a bowl of hot water misting him over in a cloud of steam. With each breath he took he coughed in liquid gurgles as phlegm slapped against his burning throat.

Cassie placed both hands on his shoulders and squeezed. " I know, kiddo. But try to keep things in perspective. At least you're not vomiting this year."

" Oh, yeah, not being able to breathe is such an improvement…" he coughed and hacked again, then leaned to the side to spit phlegm into the bucket.

Cassie reached under the towel to feel her son's forehead.

" Still hot," she mumbled. Seamus caught the worry undertone of her voice, and he shivered. He had been sick for a week now, and his lungs felt as though a pool of led had settled at the bottom. He could not take a deep breath without coughing something up. But at least he had yet to cough up blood. Blood usually heralded the point of never returning to any kind of health again.

Unlike pain, sickness was something that was difficult to brush aside. There were some illnesses that could be ignored for a time, but sicknesses such as the one Seamus had now tended to be all consuming. It brought about bouts of dizziness, and made it difficult to move about. He could barely move from one room to the other without support.

Seamus shivered again, this time from cold. The weather had been wet and freezing for nearly a month now, and even sitting so close to the stove glowing bright orange with a fire, and a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, Seamus could still feel the chill air leaking into his bones.

" Need another blanket?" Cassie asked.

Seamus sniffed and cleared his throat. " Yeah, probably."

She patted him on the back before leaving. Seamus' head throbbed and felt as though it was swimming in a heavy liquid. He closed his eyes and took careful, shallow breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he pulled back the cloth to stare at his reflection in the water. He looked as he usually did, bony faced and pale. His eyes, however, were surrounded by shadows, and his normal pallor was taking on a gray hue. He took a deep breath to sigh, only to end up coughing fitfully until his chest ached.

" … the water isn't working. He's not getting any better."

Seamus jerked his head at the sound of his mother's voice.

" He's burning up, Eli. It usually doesn't last this long."

" He'll pull through," Eli replied. " He's done it plenty of times before. Seamus is good at surviving. He's survived interrogations then he can survive this."

" But he barely eats and is barely able to stand…"

" Look, babe. Ike's making some of that brew of his, the one that helped clear up Amber's cough. Seamus'll be all right. He's a Harper, and if a Harper is good at one thing it's surviving."

The conversation died down to low murmuring that Seamus could not understand. Heaviness settled on Seamus' heart. He had never cared much whether he lived or died, mostly just on what manner of death occurred. Of course he would never want to be Magog food, but whether beaten to death by a Nietzschean or wasted away by a disease, at least the pain would be over. But death was easiest on the one dead, since they felt nothing after. It was the living that suffered the most, and no matter how little he valued his own life, Seamus could not do that to his parents. They needed him to survive, and it had given him a reason to keep going, even when he was crawling home after another uber interrogation, blood dripping from him like a leaking faucet.

Seamus wished they didn't care so much. There were times when he was tired of holding on and just wanted to let go.

There came a commotion from outside the door. People were shouting, and harsh voices were barking orders. Seamus knew these sounds, and his emaciated body went taut enough to snap. He snatched the towel from off his head and pushed himself out of the chair. The moment he did his knees started to buckle and he slowly began sinking to the floor.

" Mom, dad!" he called, his voice high with terror. His parent's came running out as Seamus tried to pull himself back up using the table, while also trying to back away from the door. Cassie hurried over to her son, throwing his arm around her neck and lifting him. Eli went to the door and pressed his ear against it.

His breath came quick and unsteady. " Ubers. Oh man, not a slave run, please not another slave run."

He suddenly took three swift steps back. Cassie tried to haul a weak Seamus to the sleeping room but barely made it to the hall when the door burst open. Cassie yelped in alarm, and she and her son fell against the wall, sliding to the floor. Eli moved to stand protectively over them.

Two burly male Nietzscheans stalked in, flanking each side of the door. They were dressed in the sleeveless black uniforms, their arms thick with bulging muscles. Following after them was a young female uber, twenty or so perhaps. Seamus' eyes widened in surprise. She was beautiful for an uber. Most of the female soldiers he had seen tended toward an appearance more like the males. This one seemed to pride herself in her amber hair that fell past her shoulders, her lithe figure, and bright blue eyes. Her uniform was spotless, with sleeves that ended at her bone blades. She kept one hand on her blaster tucked in the holster about her waist as she entered. Outside, the din continued as other ubers broke down doors and snapped more orders.

" Inspection," the woman said in an annoyed voice. Seamus' heart clamored in his chest. Inspections usually preceded the slave runs.

The uber female looked Eli over at a glance, then grabbed him by the collar of his jacket to practically throw him toward the flanking males. The platinum blonde male on the right grabbed Eli by both arms to restrain him. Eli's gaze was to the floor, but his features twitched with intense anger.

Cassie wrapped her arms protectively around Seamus, and mother and son shrank away from the female who slowly approached them. The lady uber moved quick, snatching Cassie by the front of her shirt to lift her onto her feet. She looked Cassie over, grabbing her by the chin with one hand to study her face. She then shoved Cassie aside and turned her cold eyes on Seamus.

Seamus cringed when her hand shot out to grab his arm and force him onto his feet. He tried to stand on his own but his legs refused to cooperate. His wheezing breath came quick, and he could not hold back his need to cough. The female narrowed her eyes.

" What's wrong with him?" she asked harshly.

Seamus glanced over at his mother. Cassie was in the corner, her eyes to the floor and her shoulders quaking.

" He… has a cold," she lied in a quiet, subdued voice.

The uber woman looked Seamus up and down. The scrutiny seemed to take longer than it had with his parents. She even quirked an eyebrow as though peeked with interest.

" He's scrawnier than the parents," she said with a slight hint of disgust. She looked him over again.

When she spoke again, it seemed mostly to herself. " But he is young."

Seamus' meager frame convulsed. The female uber shook him roughly.

" Stand up straighter kludge!" she growled, her cold eyes flashing with fury.

Fear gave Seamus the strength he needed, and he was able to at least keep his legs from giving out. The woman grabbed him by the hair to turn his head painfully about until his neck creaked, studying his face. She then shoved him toward his mother, who caught him and held him tightly. The woman stared at Seamus for the longest time. She was thinking carefully, Seamus could tell. The look frightened him, and he cringed against his mother, quaking.

The woman said nothing else, but turned and strode from the room. The uber holding Eli shoved him roughly to the floor and followed after. Eli scrambled to his feet, rushing to the door and slamming it. He then turned to his frightened family, though he said nothing at first. He simply stared at them as though trying to memorize them or keep them locked in his sights forever.

Seamus' legs finally began to weaken, and the room began to spin.

" Hey mom…" he said, his voice low and weak. He began to sink to the floor, but was caught up by both Eli and Cassie. They moved him quickly to the sleeping room, gently laying him on his bed and covering him with all the blankets they had. Cassie stood and hurried from the room to come back a moment later with a wet rag. She began mopping her son's sweaty brow with one hand and gripping his shoulder with the other.

" They can't take him, Eli," she said.

" We don't know that they will," Eli replied.

" You saw the way that uber bch looked at him. They always go for the younger ones."

" Seamus is sick. They won't want him."

Cassie's breath sounded convulsive, then Seamus realized that she was laughing and sobbing at the same time. He found it unnerving until Cassie spoke again. " They'll take him just because he is. They'll take him just to kill him. They like killing the weak ones, the sick ones, so they don't contaminate the others," she spat bitterly.

They fell silent for the longest time.

" Even healthy he wouldn't survive," Cassie said. She began brushing back his hair.

" I won't let them take him Cassie," Eli said with a hard edge tone of utter conviction. " I won't let him die."

But then you'll die, Seamus wanted to say, but could not get his mouth to move. He fell asleep against his will.

AAAAAAAAAAAA

Seamus awoke with a start when someone began pulling on his arm. He opened his bleary eyes, blinking several times to look up into the intensely frightened face of his father.

" Come on, Seamus, get up," he hissed in a trembling voice. " We have to get you out of here now."

Seamus took a breath and coughed. He felt so tired that he could barely even move one arm. He just wanted to sleep.

" Seamus get up!" Eli pulled Seamus from the bedding. The urgency in his voice chased away some of the sleep fog but could not give Seamus the energy he needed to stand.

" I can't," he moaned. " I can't move dad."

" You have to, son. They're coming. Don't you hear them?"

Seamus listened. He heard screams, wailing, all distant like a memory. His father knelt to wrap his son's arm around his neck and pull him up. He then dragged him to the corner of the room where the trap door to the escape tunnel lay hidden beneath several blankets. Eli kicked the blankets aside, then knelt to the floor, feeling along the seams of the door until he found the hidden latch. He pressed it and the door dropped down. Eli gently lowered Seamus into the darkness, following soon after.

" What about mom?" Seamus asked, looking nervously back.

" She wanted to stay, Seamus. She's going to distract them."

Seamus pulled back, but the action was more in his head than a reality.

" But…"

" She wanted to do it, Seamus. She wanted to."

The tunnel was blacker than a starless midnight, but never veered. When Eli stopped Seamus knew that they were at the ladder that led to the surface. Eli moved his son around to his back, wrapping both of Seamus' arms around his neck.

" Hang on tight as you can kid," Eli said. Seamus clutched the collar of his father's jacket as he began to climb. It was an arduous ascent with Eli breathing heavily and each step slower than the last. Then there came a thud, whine, and creak. Faint light spilled into the tunnel, followed by foul smelling air. Eli climbed out into a frigid night filled with the sounds of screaming, blaster fire, and wailing pleads.

Once out of the tunnel, Eli practically carried his son to the junk heap that surrounded his home. He moved along it, kicking at metal sheets in search of the 'rabbit holes' used to hide items and people. To both their terror, the search was taking them around to the front where the ubers were coming and going. Eli climbed the pile in a mad, clamoring dash until he was hidden on the other side. They were on the other side of the building when Eli finally heard the hollow thump of one of the doors. He pulled it aside and helped Seamus to climb in.

" Stay until they're gone," Eli said. Seamus struggled to turn himself around.

" But dad…"

" Seamus stay here and live! You understand me? Whatever happens you have to survive!"

Seamus was taken back by this outburst of passion. Tears blurred his vision and he wiped them away angrily so that he could see his father's face. Tears fell freely from Eli's own sunken eyes.

" You have to live, Seamus. That's all we care about. That's all that matters."

Seamus felt suddenly small, as though he was five years old again and the Magog were beating at their door. He nodded numbly, and Eli smiled a sad smile.

" You'll be all right kid. Whatever happens, if it happens, you'll be all right. I know you will."

Eli closed the panel and Seamus was lost in patchy darkness. He stayed crouched where he was, the sharp metal bits of the pile and the makeshift girders that held the tunnel in place digging into his back. The weariness had left his mind but not his limbs. He wanted to go after his father but could hardly even sit up. Instead, he lowered himself onto his chest and crawled forward to the other end of the tunnel where it narrowed. He could not get out that way, but he could see through the junk to what was happening outside.

He watched as people were being dragged from the building, while others trying to chase after them were either beaten back or shot. It made him angry and sick to watch it, and he automatically reached for his shriller hidden in his jacket. Then he froze.

He saw his mother being dragged out, struggling and screaming, by the two ubers who had come just the other day. They were being led by the same uber female. She walked with an angry but haughty air about her like a disdainful queen.

When they were several feet from the building, the two males pinned Cassie down. One of them pulled her head back by her hair, and the female knelt before her.

" Where is your son?" Seamus heard the woman ask. Cassie did not answer. The woman struck her hard across the face with a balled fist. " Where is your brat you worthless kludge!"

Seamus could see his mother clearly. Blood dripped from Cassie's mouth. Her eyes became hard as steel, her jaw tensed, and as a response she spat blood and saliva in the female uber's face.

" Where you can't touch him you bch!"

The female wiped her face, then spread her bone blades.

" Nooooo!" Eli screamed, charging the male ubers holding his wife down. He was brandishing the metal pike he used to hunt rats, and collided into both ubers, thrusting the pike at one of them. All three tumbled back, but the pike went through the black-haired uber. Eli then pulled the pike free just as the platinum-headed male scrambled to his feet to charge the lighter weight kludge.

" Run Cassie!" Eli screamed.

" Run mom," Seamus feebly pleaded. Cassie pushed herself to her feet at the same time Eli struck the male uber across the face with the pike.

Cassie did not go far. She barely made five paces when the female pulled a knife from her belt and threw it. The blade sank deep into Cassie's back and she fell.

It had all happened in a blink. Seamus had barely even seen the knife until it had been thrown. His heart thudded and seemed to stop, and the breath caught in his throat.

" M-mom?" he whimpered, shivering. Someone screamed, and for a moment he thought it was his own voice screaming in his head. Then he saw his father push himself to his feet, mouth gaping open, the scream ripping from his throat to make the air vibrate. The scream was like a knife burrowing into Seamus' heart to lay him open for the cold to come rushing in.

Eli fell to his knees by his dead wife's side and gently, as though picking up a small child, gathered her into his arms. Seamus wanted to go out there, to hold his mother as well. He wanted it so badly that he did not care about anything else. He tried to move the junk so he could squeeze through, but could not, and he cursed himself bitterly for being so weak.

Then he saw the blonde male stand and stalk toward Eli. Seamus tried harder to move the junk that blocked his way and go help his father. The female followed behind the male, and the two stood over Eli like demonic giants from the stories Cassie used to tell.

Eli took no notice of them. His eyes were fixed on Cassie as though she were the only thing he could see. Then he looked up, not at the ubers, but in the direction of Seamus' hiding place. Their gazes met, though Seamus was certain that his father could not see him. Then again, perhaps he could in some way.

" Run dad," Seamus pleaded.

Eli began to laugh. He lowered his wife to the ground reverently, then looked back in Seamus' direction. He's eyes gleamed with mirth, with triumph, and his laughter grew louder, even hysterical.

" I killed one," he said, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. " Now I know why my son liked it so much."

The tears fell in rivers down Seamus' face, yet he found that he could not help a small smile. He did not know why. Some say that laughter was infectious, but Seamus felt it was something more. Something had been done, been accomplished, though he was not sure what. Maybe his safety, maybe the death of an uber, he could not say. But he felt it, and for a brief moment that was less than a second but more than an eternity, Seamus felt free, and knew his father felt it as well. They may not have won anything, but they had fought; they had tried.

The female curled her lip in contempt. She moved behind Eli with her bone blades spread. She placed them against his throat, and with one jerk of her arm slit it open. Eli's laughter ended in a way that made Seamus flinch and bring reality crumbling in around him. His father fell face-first over his mother's body, and both lay motionless.

Not when the twins died, or when Mark died, had Seamus felt such pain. It was so powerful that it consumed every part of him until he could not even think. It was a pain he could not brush aside to deal with later. It made him tremble, and kept his breath from coming and going. He watched the bodies of his parents, and silently pleaded with them to get up, yet knowing good and well that they never would.

The female wiped Eli's blood onto the back of his clothes. The blonde male snickered, and nudged the bodies to ensure that they were dead. Pain became rage for Seamus, the most powerful he had felt. Images of him running out, blowing his shriller and stealing the ubers' weapons to blast them into dust poured from his thoughts like rivers of venom. He wanted to tear them open, let their blood soak the ground. He wanted to hurl explosives and turn them into body parts. He wanted to do so many terrible things that his body ached to move. But all he could do was clench his fist until his palms bled.

The ubers left, and Seamus still had not moved. The world went deathly quiet. Seamus stared blankly at his parents. He suddenly could not understand why they saved him. He was sick and dying, absolutely useless. There was no reason to save him and die for the trouble. There was no point to it. They had been fools, risking their lives for a pathetic, dying kludge.

So many thoughts and emotions battled it out in Seamus' heart that he could no longer think clearly. Sorrow, rage, anger, guilt, confusion all buffeted him like a terrible storm. It swelled within him to send him spiraling into darkness, making his mind whirl and the world spin. It grew and grew creating the most excruciating pain he had ever felt. He thought his heart would burst with it. Then they congealed into one solid emotion that left him sobbing and shivering fitfully. He felt alone, utterly empty and alone. It exhausted him until he felt nothing at all, and fell asleep.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The morning was gray, as it had always been. Seamus had never known a morning that was not gray. It was also bitterly cold with a biting wind, but he did not care.

He crawled from the hole like a wounded rat, crumpling beneath it and huddling against the junk surrounding it. It was as far as he could go, as far as he wanted to go. The effort had worn him out too much for anything else.

He did not know how long he was there, staring blankly at the ground, feeling nothing except lost in something unreal. He watched unthinking as his tears stained the dusty ground. Then a shadow fell over him. He looked up without a care whether it was kludge or uber that towered above him. It was Ike, his forehead bloody, his face white, and his eyes red and wet. He stared at Seamus sadly for a moment, and Seamus stared back.

" You poor kid," Ike said in a strangled voice. He knelt, reaching his hand out toward Seamus. Seamus flinched, suddenly loathed to be touched. Touching, feeling anything, would make everything real again, and he did not want that.

" It's okay, Seamus. It's okay."

Ike placed his hand on Seamus' shoulder, and Seamus cringed with a shudder. He took in a shaky breath and coughed fitfully.

" We best get you inside, kid. You'll die out here."

Ike gathered Seamus up as one would a sleeping child to take to his bed. Seamus was so skeletal thin and light that Ike lifted him easily, and was startled by it. He carried Seamus quickly over the junk and then indoors to the Lahey home on the other side of the hall. The rooms were in shambles, and Ike's wife was huddled in the corner, weeping. Brenden was by her side trying to comfort her. Both looked up when Ike passed them, but something seemed to be missing, though Seamus could not fathom what, nor did he wish to try. Ike took Seamus into the sleeping room and laid him down on the blankets, wrapping him up in them.

Seamus lay there, caught between sleep and waking. He was so tired, yet every time he closed his eyes he saw it all again, and the pain stabbed him.

" He's sick," he heard Ike say.

" … his parents…"

" … need to hide the bodies… ubers can't get them… then we'll bury them…"

Seamus heard the conversation in a detached way. Then Brenden walked in and sat down beside his cousin with knees drawn up to his chest.

Seamus turned his head to look up at his cousin. Brenden's face was wet, and his eyes red like his father's. Then Seamus looked around the room, and knew then what it was that was wrong.

" Amber?" he asked in a small voice.

Brenden wiped his eyes with one hand. " They took her."

Seamus dropped his head back to the floor. Reality slipped away from him again, and his body went numb. Then he felt Brenden's hand on his arm. Seamus looked up at him, and Brenden looked back. No words needed to be said, or could be said. Words had no meaning for them, only tears.

Seamus had not realized he had fallen asleep. He recalled vaguely being given something to drink, but that was all. When he awoke, the room was dark except for a wan light spilling in through a tiny window. Morning was coming, and Seamus had feeling in his limbs.

Bleary-eyed and half-asleep, he still managed to push himself up. He swayed, stumbling toward the door to collide with the wall on the other side. He leaned against this wall as he made his way to what had been the kitchen. He was thirsty, and hungry, but he was used to hunger.

When he came into the ramshackled room he found himself to be alone. Dread seized him as he listened into the silence for voices that weren't there.

They came again, Seamus thought. Fear gave him strength as it always did, and he moved quickly out of the kitchen and into the corridor. He hurried as best he could, tripping and falling several times, slow to get back up. He did not even acknowledge how it was he could move at all.

When he burst outside into the cold gray day, he finally heard voices coming from his right. He turned suddenly and saw a mass of people standing in a half circle. Confused, shivering, he stumbled toward them, his momentum carrying him forward. But he was unable to stop, and stumbled on the verge of dropping.

Many familiar faces turned in surprise to see him moving toward them. When he came to the crowd, falling once again, he was caught and lifted upright.

" Seamus, what are you doing? You shouldn't be out here," Brenden said, helping his cousin to stand. Seamus paid no attention to him. His eyes and his thoughts were fixed on the massive but shallow grave the people surrounded.

" Why didn't you wake me up for this?" Seamus asked hoarsely.

" You were sick, man. You were asleep for almost two days. We were going to bring you out later, when there weren't so many and after we were sure you were all right."

Seamus heard Brenden's words distantly. Ike, who was standing at the head of the grave, went on with his eulogy. People turned back to listen. Seamus, however, heard little of it. He felt detached again with old emotions trying to resurface, but hovering back as a distant memory. It was still unreal to him, and he still could not understand why he was alive and his parents were not.

It was what his parents had wanted. Seamus remembered that now. His father had said it was all they had wanted. He did not know why. He could not understand how it was they could leave him alone, drowning in his own pain. But he was alive. Sick as he felt, he was moving again. That meant something important. That meant he would live after all. And if that was what they wanted, then he would give it to them as best he could. He did not understand it, nor saw any point to it, but he would do it. He would try.

When the eulogy had ended, people began to leave. Seamus, however, hobbled toward the grave. He stood as straight as he could, looking down at the pale bodies of his parents. They looked alseep, but seemed cold. Seamus took a quick breath without coughing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his shriller.

" I still wish I'd used this," he quietly said. The pain stabbed again, but he had run out of tears. He tossed the shriller into the grave and it landed between Cassie and Eli.

" I'll live as long as I can."

He then turned and walked away from the grave as the diggers began to replace the dirt. It was not the only grave, there were others that had been dug and filled. There were markers as well, for the dead, and those that were alive but gone and soon to be dead.

Seamus had made no promises to survive, just to try. The pain stayed with him, but diminished to become a burr in his soul to always remind him. He found the means to ignore it, to go on living, to quell all his anger as best as he could. He lived dangerously. He stole, he aggravated the ubers, he plotted, planned, and schemed. He became used to coming home and never seeing or hearing his mother and father.

Life went on for Seamus, with no real purpose except to be a nuisance to all ubers he came across. He wanted revenge but never saw the female uber again. He became so used to pain that he hardly felt it, yet continued to fear its coming. He lost other friends, mourned them, then went on. His mother had told him once that one never knew what might come. Seamus thought back on those words often with fondness but never really believed them.

Then, one day, he met a man. His name was Bobby Jensen. He had a girlfriend called Becka Valentine who owned a ship called the Eureka Maru. They took him away from earth, from hunger, cold, and emptiness. For the first time in his young life, the small, frail boy's feet had left the ground, and Seamus Zelazny Harper was flying to the stars.

End of Part One


	6. Part Two, Ch 6 Now

Part two of my story takes place after Bunker Hill.

Ch. 6

Now

" Mr. Harper, how are those security enhancements you promised me coming along?" Dylan Hunt's voice sounded over the com, reverberating off the walls of the access ducts. Harper pulled the jack from his cerebral port, wearing his usual grin of self-satisfaction for his own ingenuity.

" Up and running, boss. A flea so much as sneezes and you'll know about it. Not that you would want to, but at least you know you can."

" About time Mr. Harper," Dylan replied.

Harper scooted back to replace the panel over the wiring. " Hey, I'm a genius, not a magician. Even genius takes time."

" And you're sure these security retrofits will work?"

Harper leaned back against the wall, the small human very at home in the confines of Andromeda's metal tunnels.

" Have I ever let you down?"

" Not yet, but there's a first time for everything," Dylan said.

" Relax, Captain. Trust in the Harper, the Harper is good…" Harper winced at a sharp pain in his side. He snatched up the inhaler around his neck and sucked on it, letting the medicine soak into his lungs. The pain quickly abated and Harper relaxed. He rubbed his side where it felt as though one of the obnoxious little Magog Larvae had been gnawing on a rib.

" What some Barbecue sauce with that you little…" He elbowed himself in the offended rib, offending it even more and wincing once again.

Usually the pain he felt when the slimes woke up was situated around his gut, but sometimes it meandered, even moving upward. It made him nervous, especially when it neared his heart and lungs.

Harper let out a sharp breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

" Okay, so just what is it I did to deserve this?" he asked the Divine. He did not expect an answer, but he never stopped asking all the same.

He turned and moved in a crouch toward the command deck entrance of the duct. The door slid opened when he arrived, and he poked his head out to scan the deck. Everyone was in his or her usual spots; Beka at the pilot's station, Tyr, Rev Bem, and even Trance scattered everywhere else. Dylan stood at the very front, and Rommie the avatar off to the side.

" So when's the party?" Harper asked.

" They haven't even contacted us yet, Harper," Beka replied, turning slightly to look at the little engineer. " And I doubt it's going to be much of a party when they do."

Harper positioned himself into sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the port door. He wanted to see these ubers for himself, and though they were only going to appear on screen, he felt safer at the rear with the access port at his back.

" So tell me again why it's so important we talk to these Nietzschean reps if we don't trust them?" Beka asked. " I mean, they are from the Drago-Kasov pride. I thought we hated those guys."

" Actually I think they hate us," Trance said in her innocent, bubbly way. The strange purple girl was rocking back and forth on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back and her tail twitching.

" Actually, I think they hate Harper," Beka said. She turned to look over he shoulder at him, smirking. " I mean you did stir up quite a little rebellion down there."

Harper smirked back. " And I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Outside, he was all grins. Inside, old pains stirred to life. His thoughts went to Brenden, his cousin, and for a moment his throat constricted. Yes, he had received a transmission from him; a message sent throughout the Dragan occupied worlds to stir the slaves into rebellion. But it had been transmitted in the middle of a battle. There could never be any true way of knowing, but in his heart Harper knew that Brenden was gone. He hid the ache of the loss well enough, grafting it to the pain that was as much a part of him as breathing.

" They want to talk," Dylan said. " We can at least hear what it is they have to say. The slave rebellion has caused a dent in their defenses, and Magog have been taking the advantage. Personally I couldn't care less that the Magog and Drago-Kasov are at eachother's throats, but there are the slaves to consider."

Dylan turned briefly to give Harper a meaningful look of understanding. Harper flashed him a smile of gratitude.

Holo-Rommie's partly transparent form appeared before Dylan. " Harper's upgrades are up and running, captain," she said. " And I must admit that they are quite the update."

Seamus smiled broadly. " Thanks Rom doll. I aim to please."

" Perhaps," Tyr began dryly, " you should save your praises for after these diplomats have come and gone."

" Hey," Harper protested, though in truth he was in complete agreement with the Nietzschean. Both were in unanimity (for once) on not being happy about the Dragan's coming.

" He's right, Mr. Harper," Dylan said. " I trust your abilities, but I also trust a Draco-Kasov to have something up his sleeve."

Rommie's face appeared on the screen. " Ship approaching Captain. They're haling."

Dylan nodded once. " Let's see 'em."

Harper rolled his eyes. As far as he was concerned, one Nietzschean looked like another. All the men were unnaturally massive and all the women unnaturally beautiful and perfect. He pulled out his nano-welder and looked it over, already planning out a few more upgrades for Andromeda's systems, even further retrofits for the security.

" Lady Aneyla, I presume?" Captain hunt said.

" Captain Hunt," the Lady replied.

The flat, cold voice struck Harper like a slap, sending a river of cold coursing down his spine and into every nerve. He knew that voice. Something about it was so terribly familiar that it made his insides squirm and his heart pump faster.

" As Captain," Dylan said, " I would like to Welcome you to the Andromeda Ascendant. Please proceed to dock."

" Thank you captain."

Harper slowly looked up from his welder to the face that filled the screen. His breath stopped, his heart lurched, and his insides twisted. He knew that face. There were lines of age on it now, but the amber hair, and the cold blue eyes spilling impatience were all the same. That face was one of many that haunted him in his worst nightmares among Magog and ubers. He knew it as well as he knew his own face, and had never forgotten it. He had never let himself.

The shock of seeing that face caused terrible memories to pour back into existence. Startled, he jerked back into the duct, slapping the manual switch to close the door and shutting the face from his sights. He was on his hands and knees with his heart hammering and his breath coming thick and fast. He was quaking with an uncontrollable rage that made him clench his fists until his nails bit into his palms, drawing blood. He hated that face more than he hated anything else, even Magog. But that could not be her. It could not be possible.

Harper shook his head. " No no no no no no… It's not her, it's not her…" But the voice had proven otherwise. Stronger than the image of the face was the disdainful voice that echoed in his brain.

" Harper?"

Harper heard Rommie's voice, but his mind did not register it. He was lost in a see of red fury that threatened to drown him.

" Harper, are you all right? I'm detecting an elevation in heart rate and respiratory."

Harper gritted his teeth, trying to control the rage he felt.

" I'm fine. I gotta… I gotta go."

He turned and moved down the duct to be as far away from the face as he could.

AAAAAAAAAAAA

The woman must have been in her middle years, but she hardly looked it. Besides the few lines about her mouth and eyes everything else about her bespoke youth. Her eyes, however, were like steel, expressing nothing but annoyance.

" Thank you captain," she said after Dylan presented his permission for her to dock. Then her face vanished from the screen.

" That was fast," Trance said. Dylan grinned at the purple girl's way of putting a positive voice on the obvious.

" Maybe that means these talks will be short too," Beka added with her own positive note. " I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't like her."

" I try not to jump into judgement," Rev said. " Everyone deserves a chance to make a better impression."

" Well, so far, she's not doing too hot," Beka replied.

" I did not say they were always successful," Rev said.

Beka snickered. " Hey Harper, you're kind of quiet. She really leave you speechless?"

He turned her head, as did Dylan, startled that the little engineer had yet to say anything. He was even more startled to see that he had gone.

" Huh," Beka said. " She must have been too much for him. I'll never understand how a twerp beaten all his life by Nietzscheans could actually be attracted to any of them."

Dylan sighed. " Maybe he went down to meet them early. In which case, we should probably hurry ourselves so he isn't the first face they see."

The crew followed their captain to the hangar where the Nietzschean ship was docked. Harper was not there, and Dylan was becoming suspicious. It was never good sign when Harper vanished.

They stood before the hangar doors just as they opened and the Lady Aneyla emerged. She was followed by three burly males, one with brown hair shaved close to the skull, another with sandy hair slicked back from his high-forehead, and the final with spiked, platinum hair.

" Captain Hunt," The lady said by way of greeting, though her face retained apathy. " I am the Lady Anayla out of Cassandra by Vance of the Drago-Kasov."

Dylan bowed his head. " Lady. Welcome to Andromeda. Allow me to introduce my crew. Beka Valentine, Trance Gemini, Rev Bem, Tyr Anasazi, and Andromeda's Avatar."

Anayla passed her eyes over each crewmember dispassionately, though her eyes lingered for a moment on Tyr. Dylan had expected this, though whether she studied the Kodiac out of attraction or disdain he could not say. The woman was like an ice-sculpture that moved.

" Our engineer Seamus Harper, is, I'm afraid, not present at the moment." Dylan would have to have a long talk with Harper later. " But I'm sure he'll show up soon enough."

Anayla snatched her gaze away from Tyr to look at Dylan. For the first time since presenting herself, her visage registered a brief emotion; surprise.

" What did you say?"

Dylan exchanged a question look with Rommie. Rommie shrugged.

" Um, our engineer. He's not present. He's… strange that way. Kind of lives by his own rules," Dylan laughed abashedly. Yes, a very long talk.

" No, what was his name?"

Dylan and Rommie exchanged looks again. " Seamus Harper."

Anayla arched her eyebrow. " Oh."

" Um, would you care for a tour of the ship?" Dylan asked next.

Anayla did not respond, not right away. Her eyes became hazed for a moment as though she were looking inward. She blinked, breaking from her reverie, and looked back at Dylan, smiling in a way that made Dylan shudder inwardly.

" Yes, that would be nice."


	7. Ch 7 Predicament

I now accept anonymous reviews.

Both Dylan and Harper are thrust into a Precarious situation.

Ch. 7

Predicament

Well, this is going well, Dylan cynically mused. As he led the small party of Dragans down the corridors, glancing over his shoulder to speak out points of interest for them to notice, all he saw by way of expressions were the same they had worn since coming aboard.

Dylan was glad for Rommie and Trance's presence. Rev Bem would have accompanied them had the male soldiers not given him dangerous looks. Dylan thought it better to tell the Magog Wayist to go and preserve his health rather than risk it. No one had bided Trance to go, so she stayed by choice, and Rommie by necessity. Beka and Tyr had departed on their own accord, but Dylan decided not to hold it against them. He had enough to deal with at the moment.

Harper had yet to appear, which Dylan had finally come to terms with. It was probably better for the young engineer not to be in shooting range of the Dragans. Anayla's interest in the boy had set off a number of warnings in Dylan's head, and had brought about an early onset of weariness; and the Dragans had yet to actually do anything.

When they came by hydroponics, Trance perked, beaming brighter than a sun, and began chatting quickly about the various plants she had collected over the years. It was cut short, however, when the Nietzscheans turned away in utter disinterest and left. Trance was taken back, but not offended. She shrugged and followed after, talking about the beauty of the ship's design.

The Nietzscheans did come slightly to life when Dylan showed them the two massive machines meant for land-based combat, but Dylan cut that part of the tour short himself. No need for them to get an eye full for too long, just enough to know what Andromeda was capable of.

They finished the tour by Dylan showing the small party their quarters, with Anayla receiving the better of the rooms of course. She seemed mildly pleased with them as she looked them over, even the colorful plants Trance had placed inside to "brighten the place up", as she had put it.

With the tour now complete, the next step was to get down to the business at hand. Anayla left her entourage at their quarters, say for the platinum headed male who looked to be near the same age as Anayla. Dylan dismissed Rommie and Trance, then led the two Dragans to the conference room.

Anayla told the male whose name was Seth to wait outside the door. She then took a seat opposite Dylan, her long-fingered hands folded lightly on the tabletop.

" Very impressive, Captain Hunt," Anayla said. " I never thought such an ancient ship could remain so… advanced."

Dylan was startled beyond words. Praise from a Nietzschean. For a brief, comical moment, he thought the universe would collapse around him at any moment.

" Uh… thank you, Lady Anayla."

Anayla turned her mouth up in a temporary smile. " No, thank you, Captain Hunt. You have received us well and I am glad for that."

And you've been courteous about it the whole time, Dylan wanted to say, but quickly thought better of it. His animosity against the Dragans may not have been as strong as the one Harper held against them, but neither was it subdued. Earth had been like a home away from home during the Common Wealth years. However, it was the Dragans treatment of their human slaves that boiled Dylan's blood the most. He had been witness to it here and there on the drifts they stopped at or the multi-species worlds they visited. But the truest testament of their cruelty came from Harper himself, and not always in words. Harper never talked about it outright unless angry, frightened, or in a state of melancholia. When he did, he kept it short, to the point, but in a hesitant sort of way as old emotions resurfaced to try and overwhelm him. They were terrible stories, short as they were, and Dylan's heart broke for the little man every time he heard them. They also helped to reinforce his patience whenever the cocky engineer did something to try that patience.

Besides stories, there was Harper himself. Short, forever scrawny, flesh marred by scars that embarrassed him if accidentally noticed, and with an immune system that Dylan would not wish on his worst enemy. It was beyond a miracle that the young man was still alive, a miracle that kept occurring every day now that the kid had Magog in him.

" Captain Hunt," Anayla said. " My superiors are in a state of flux on what to do about these recent Magog attacks. They are nothing we cannot handle, but they are draining our defenses, leaving us vulnerable to attacks by rival prides. We would not have come to you…" she let the words hang in the air for a moment to drive home the bitterness that still lay like a blaster between them. " But I fear we have no choice. We need help."

Dylan sat back in his chair, thoughtfully searching the Lady's face, seeking for that twitch of anger at having to ask for assistance, and from an enemy at that. He saw nothing of the sort. The woman might have been an android the way she held herself in such perfect check. This bothered Dylan to no end. It meant something, but now was not the time to ponder it.

" I understand. However, what I don't understand is why you came to me. I'm the ally to one of those rival prides you mentioned. I aided them in the attack against your fleet. One of my crewmembers helped to start that little rebellion that has, obviously, led to this situation. So excuse me if I can't see the reasoning behind your coming to me for help. In all truth, I have every reason to deny it, and you have every reason not to be here."

Anayla smiled. " You're right, captain. If I had my way, I would not be here at all. Yes, you have every reason not to help us, say one. The kludges."

Knowing well enough what the term "kludge" meant, Dylan mocked ignorance all the same.

" Excuse me, Kludge?"

Anayla's smile never wavered. " Humans. You care about your race, don't you captain? If we suffer, they suffer, and I don't think you want that."

Dylan inclined his head in a nod. " You know me well, Lady."

" Call me Anayla, and it is my superiors who know you, at least in the respects that you care for our slaves far more than you do us. You even have one of them among you, is that not so?"

Discomfort squirmed in Dylan. He had been loathing this moment.

" Yes."

Anayla nodded a few times, but said nothing more on the matter. This struck Dylan as unusual. He thought for certain that she would have launched into a game of double-meaning questions meant to reveal the details of Harper's influence in the rebellion. Instead she fell silent as she fell back into her brief state of reverie. She then blinked, pulling herself from it with another smile.

" If you want to help the humans, then you must help us."

" How?" Dylan asked.

" I don't know. Perhaps, for a start, if there were some way you could keep the Sabra-Jaguar pride off our backs for a time. Just a suggestion. Or you could lend us some weaponry, or yourself and your ship to fend off the attacking Magog. Really it's up to you. Help directly, help indirectly, it does not matter. In return, besides being able to help your fellow… humans, you would receive further compensation."

" Such as what?"

" A truce for one. You leave us alone, and we leave you alone."

Dylan arched both his eyebrows skeptically. Yeah, right, leave alone just until the Magog have been fended off, then shoot me in the back, Dylan thought.

" An alliance, maybe?" Anayla went on. " Think about it, having the most powerful Nietzschean pride at your call."

" I already have a Nietzschean pride, thanks," Dylan replied. Anayla laughed softly.

" What, the Sabra-Jaguar alliance? Combine prides all you wish, they are still insects compared to the power of the Drago-Kasov."

And there it was; the famous Nietzschean arrogance. Dylan had been waiting for it the moment he received the call that a Dragan diplomat was being sent to speak with him.

" How about," Dylan said, shifting to a more comfortable position in his seat, " you give me earth and all its humans, and I give you my full back-up. Hll, maybe I'll even bring in the Sabra-Jaguars to help out. Not that they would, but I could at least try."

Anayla was still all grins. It was almost like a battle between them to see which one would frown first and stomp away furiously.

" I like your wit, Captain. You have quite the way with humor."

Dylan lifted his hands. " What can I say, it's a gift. I enjoy making people laugh. Stick around, I might have you keeling over in hysterics before long."

Anayla did laugh, but softly. " I plan on 'sticking around' as you put it, just until you come to a decision. We may not have much time, but please take all the time you need. I know this must be a very delicate situation for you."

Dylan sighed. " Lady, you have no idea."

Anayla chuckled again. " Please don't take my meaning to be a sign of consideration."

" Oh, I didn't," Dylan replied.

" Do you mind if I change the subject?" She asked.

" Please do."

" Your engineer, what was his name again?"

Here it comes again, Dylan thought darkly. " Seamus Harper."

Again, the look of reverie. She nodded. " Of course. Is there any possible way I could meet with him?"

" For his autograph or his head?"

Anayla's brow furrowed in confusion. " His… What?"

" His autograph or head. But I'm guessing head since that's probably what your superiors want. So I don't know if it would be such a good idea for you two to meet."

Anayla's confusion deepened. She shook her head. " Why would my superiors want the head of some useless escapee?"

Dylan thought she was feigning ignorance. However, there was a certain falsehood, expression-wise, to those faking innocence or misunderstanding. Dylan had seen it often enough to know it, and could identify it a mile coming. He did not even see a hint of falsehood in Anayla's visage. She was genuinely perplexed.

Dylan could barely contain his surprise. She didn't know. She had no idea that Harper was the one who had started the rebellions.

Anayla's brow smoothed, and Dylan knew then that she finally realized.

" Wait, he wasn't the one who you sent to earth, was he?"

Dylan did not reply. He did not know how to. All he could do was mentally kick himself.

" He is, isn't he," she said with widening eyes. She then sat back and became thoughtful. " Hm, interesting. I thought it had been the woman. She looked the type. Oh well." She continued her mental considerations. " So very interesting."

Dylan wanted to ask why it was so interesting, but he felt he had said enough for one day.

" Are we done, then, Captain?" she asked, and without waiting for a reply stood and strode quickly from the room with Seth following at her side.

Dylan was confused. Something was going on that he knew nothing about, and he hated nothing more than not knowing what was happening on his own ship. Harper had vanished upon Anayla's arrival, and Anayla was interested in Harper other than as an instigator in an uprising. Now more than ever did he need to have that talk with Harper.

" Andromeda?" he called. Holo-Rommie appeared by his chair.

" Yes captain?"

" Locate Mr. Harper for me."

" He is in his quarters."

Dylan stood up quickly from his chair. " Good."

" But he has engaged privacy mode with specific instructions not to be disturbed."

Dylan abruptly turned to face the hologram. " What?"

" He does not wish to speak with anyone."

Dylan let out a sharp breath and began messaging the bridge of his nose. " Well, as Captain, I'm afraid I'm going to have to override it."

He turned, moving around the table to leave the conference room. The moment he did, Holo-Rommie appeared before him, blocking his path though he could have easily walked through her.

" Harper knew you would say this, and he has asked me to relay a message."

Dylan placed his hands on his hips and tensed with impatience.

" What is it?"

" Please," Rommie stated simply.

" Please?"

" Please wait. Please give me a moment. I'll come out when I'm ready. I just need a moment."

" How did he sound when he said this?" Dylan asked next.

" Subdued. Nervous. Uncertain. His heart rate had been elevated at the time."

This day just kept getting stranger and stranger. Dylan was still impatient to speak with Harper, but Harper's words, though spoken in the flat tone of Holo-Rommie, had sounded uncharacteristic of him. Normally when requesting privacy his messages usually involved words such as " leave me alone" or " get the hll away from my door." None of which Dylan ever listened to.

He listened this time, though. If something were going on with Harper on an emotional level then it would be better to wait. But only for so long.

" I'll give him two hours," Dylan said. " If he comes out before then, tell him I want to see him. If he stays over that time, override the mode."

" Yes Captain," Rommie replied, and blinked out. Dylan continued up the corridor at a slower pace, thinking of things that he could do to pass the time and still maintain his composure. He boded no anger or irritation toward Harper, only concern.

AAAAAAAAAAAA

The quiet darkness of the room wrapped itself like a blanket around Harper. He sat in the farthest corner of his room with his back against the cool wall of the ship. He could feel the ships life as a miniscule vibration through the wall, and concentrated on it until it grew to cause the bones of his back to vibrate as well. The ships soft hum was like a presence that kept away feelings of loneliness. It recalled to Harper those days in his childhood when he wished for privacy but not to be alone. He would hide under a blanket so as not to be seen, or be able to see anyone in return. But he could still hear the voices of his parents in the next room, or his mother's soft humming, so that he was never truly alone. It was the way he had liked it, and had now rediscovered a means for it on the Andromeda.

He held his shriller in his hands; the one Brenden had retrieved for him from his parents' grave. It had been dull and rusty, but he had polished it to a mirror shine since then. The metal that had felt cool a moment ago had now warmed up in his grip.

His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and he could see the faint outline of the thin whistled in his hands. It was all he had in connection with his parents since it had rested with their bodies for a time. Cassie had both hated and loved the whistle. She loved it because it had come about through the ingenuity of her clever son, and hated it because it had given him a false sense of invincibility. She would probably love it even more if she knew what it meant to Harper.

Besides being a piece of memory, it was a piece of safety as well. He felt safe in the dark, huddled in a corner wrapped in shadows, and holding the only weapon that could bring an uber to his knees. Even on Andromeda, this was the only way he could feel safe.

One half of his brain continued to shout in denial that the diplomat uber was the one, and the other half could not deny it at all. No other uber face or voice had ever struck him such a blow. There had been faces that bore slight similarities, yet not enough to make Harper so much as flinch. There could be no denying it, no matter how much he argued with himself.

But what tortured him the most beyond having the woman merely present was the fact that he could do nothing about it. Would she even remember him when she saw him? There was no saying until it happened. Whatever the case, he could not take his revenge. He could not so much as wound her without hurting Dylan in return. She was a diplomat coming under terms of a truce. To rend that truce would be like cutting a very delicate string pulled too taut already. There would follow serious repercussions, and they would all be heaped on Dylan's head.

Seamus could not do that to him. No matter the fury he felt he could not let it consume him. He would have to avoid the uber female as best he could until she left. It tore Harper up inside, having to do this. He tightened his grip on the shriller until his hands shook. Magog Larvae in his gut, and the killer of his parents strutting around the ship, looking over everything in distaste. It was all too much for Harper, and he could not stop the tears that fell from his eyes.

" Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, weeping. He lowered his forehead onto his knees and let his emotions run free. He did not know, nor did he care, how long he remained like this. When his head throbbed and chest ached from sadness, he lifted his head and wiped his eyes dry with the back of his hand. All that was left in him now was anger. Yes, he would have to avoid the woman. He needed to talk to Dylan. Dylan would help him. Dylan would understand. He always did.

Harper was about to set the shriller aside, but found that he could not let it go. He was afraid to. So he continued to hold to it as he shut down the privacy mode, taking a deep breath and leaving his room.


	8. Ch 8 Remembered

Thank you a million times for the reviews.

Ch. 8

Remembered

She wouldn't remember him. No way would the former slave collector turned high-minded official remember one sickly, pale kludge out of thousands. As all Nietzscheans tended to look the same to Harper, all humans would undoubtedly look the same to her.

Harper told himself this over and over on leaving his room and taking to the corridors. It was actually working since he turned corners without stopping to see if she were on the other side. There could be no denying that she would not remember him. No kludge was worth remembering to an uber, say Dylan of course.

A small part of him, however, wanted her to remember. Because if she remembered, perhaps she might react, and if she reacted violently then Harper would have no choice but to kill her. It would be in self-defense, and backlash from the Dragan government would be minimal. Wouldn't it? Harper knew better, but he could still dream.

Harper became immersed in his thoughts until nothing around him registered. So when he next turned the corner he almost fell back in alarm.

_She_ was there, striding with wide steps down the corridors, her copper leather robe shimmering and billowing like partly spread wings. She still wore the same armor beneath as though to always remain ready for another slave run. And beside her walked the platinum-hared male, his face lined but his age indeterminable.

Harper's stomach twisted, filling his mouth with a sour tasting bile. He jerked back around the corner with his breath coming fast and his heart beating a sickly rhythm.

_Cassie running. Knife in the back. Mother going down._

Harper swallowed back the vomit that burned in his throat.

_Eli screaming, fighting, killing. Father laughing. _

Bone blades at father's throat. Slash. Dead.

She had never even taken the knife from Cassie's back. She had left it there like a contaminated piece of trash.

Rage filled Harper to the point that he thought his skull would crack and his heart would burst. It clouded his mind, as well as his judgement, but not all his rationality. He would not act, but he wanted to see. He wanted to know if she remembered.

He peered around the corner and saw that the uber and her bodyguard had stopped to speak with Beka and Trance. He took that moment to emerge.

Time seemed to slow for him, though he walked quickly. When Harper neared, he looked over at her, his eyes dark and his expression darker. She glanced at him, then glanced again. Her mouth stopped moving and the words tumbled to a halt on her lips. She stared at him with eyebrows raised and time slowed even more. They became caught in a fragment of eternity; the place between the seconds that is no longer than a heartbeat yet could encompass milleniums. Stars could have been born and died within that moment, generations of them coming into being then fading into dust and black holes, it was so long.

Then Harper looked away. He could not hold that woman's gaze; it was too much for him. His stomach twisted again and he clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling. He wanted so badly to put the shriller to his mouth and emit the loudest whistle he could. He wanted to bring the uber and her muscle to their knees and make them beg for mercy, from him.

Then it hit him. The woman had returned his gaze. She had appeared intrigued.

Harper shook his head. No, it could not be because she remembered. All the Dragans knew him now, being the cause of all their recent troubles. That was why she looked at him that way. Wasn't it?

AAAAAAAAAAAA

It was a funny thing, though Dylan was not laughing. He had the means to locate anyone he wanted to on his ship, and yet could not. He asked Rommie again and again where Harper was, but his path kept changing. It was as though he were wandering aimlessly, turning here and there, then doubling back and taking a whole new route. It gave Dylan the impression that Harper was trying to avoid everyone, or maybe just one.

When Dylan turned into the next corridor he nearly collided with Beka and Trance.

" Hey," Beka said, jumping slightly in startlement.

" Hi Dylan," Trance said brightly.

" Hi, hey have you two, by any chance, seen Harper?"

Beka's brow lifted. " Actually, speak of the little twerp, I have. He walked by while that woman was talking to me. She wanted me to take her on another tour. Then Harper walked by and she completely forgot (thank the Divine.) And let me tell you, the look on Harper's face…" She shook her head in disbelief. " I mean I thought for sure he'd be all over taking her on another tour, then spouting off some garbage about him being her humble servant and crap like that. You know how he is. But no!"

" He didn't say anything," Trance replied.

" Which was a good thing because I doubt it would've been very nice," Beka continued. " I'm telling you I've never seen the little runt give anyone a look like he did Anayla. Yeah it was brief, but still…" Beka shuddered. " Just when I thought Harper couldn't get weirder."

Trance gave Dylan a look of concern. " Is Harper all right?"

" That's what I'm going to find out. I just need to find him first."

Beka shrugged. " Easy. Just go to his sanctuary and wait. Harper can't avoid the machine shop forever. In fact, I'm surprised he isn't there right now."

" Actually," said Andromeda's voice, " he is. He just went in."

Dylan sighed in relief. " Finally." He then took off at a slight run before the engineer decided to start meandering again. When he came near the machine shop he slowed. The door was closed, and there came no sounds of banging, welding, or Sparky Cola cans clattering around.

The doors slid open when Dylan stepped in front of them. He entered into the mess of machine parts and tools, with tables and shelves cluttered with junk that only Harper could appreciate.

He did not see the younger man anywhere until he stepped around Harper's skeletal recreation of an old earth jet. Harper was on the other side, huddled on the floor with his right shoulder against the wall. He had his arms around his legs, and was gripping a thin metal pipe in his whitened fists.

" Harper?" Dylan said.

" Hey Dylan," Harper quietly replied. " Been looking for you."

Dylan chuckled at this. " Have you? That explains a lot then. Well, I've been looking for you. Funny how that didn't work out too well."

" I needed to think."

Dylan moved around to sit in front of Harper on the floor. The young man's eyelids were heavy and his gaze unfocused.

" Sounds like fun," Dylan said. " What about?"

Harper inhaled a deep breath, then let it out with a shudder. " Keep her away from me Dylan."

" Who? Anayla?"

Harper's eyes flashed with anger. " Is that her name? Anayla?"

Dylan nodded.

" Keep her away from me."

" Why?" Dylan asked.

Harper's gaze flicked away from Dylan. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight that it seemed to hurt him. A tear pushed past the lids and fell down Harper's face.

" I hate her," he stated. The fury of those words took Dylan back, and he could find no words of his own to form a reply.

Harper's body began to tremble. " I hate her."

Dylan leaned forward and placed his hand on the engineer's quaking shoulder to try and draw his attention.

" What did she do?"

Harper's eye shot open, filled with fiery rage. " Do?" He shifted, moving himself into a crouch. Dylan pulled his hand away quickly. The small, wiry Harper that had always seemed so fragile in body now reminded him of an enraged, cornered animal on the verge of attack. It alarmed Dylan to no end. This was not the Harper he knew, with his jokes and inability to say the right thing, but it was Harper none the less. Dylan did not know how he knew, he just felt it, sensed it. This was the Harper no one had ever seen, the earth-bound Harper forced to slink through shadows, ignore pain, and fight just to go on for one more day. This was the old Harper, the true Harper. No, not Harper, Seamus, because no one would have called him by his last name on Earth.

Harper's breath was coming faster now. He still gripped the pipe but in one hand. The other hand was spread flat against the wall to support him. His fingers tensed as though trying to tear through that wall, causing the tendons of his hands to stand out, making it appear skeletal.

" She didn't do anything to me," he said.

Dylan furrowed his brow. " Then…"

Harper stood suddenly. " She killed them!" he shouted. " She killed them and it's all my fault!"

Dylan also stood, but did nothing to try to calm Harper. The only way he could know the truth was to let the young man vent his fury.

" They weren't even coming for them!" He screamed. He was jerking back and forth as though preparing to dash, but his gaze was distant, focused beyond everything around him as tears fell continuously from his reddened eyes.

He took a quick, sharp breath to speak again. " And now she's hear, walking free, acting like she owns this ship… I hate her Dylan, I hater her, _I hate her_!"

Dylan was about to ask who 'they' were that Anayla had killed, but the answer came to him before he could.

" Your parents," he said.

These words caused a change in Harper. They seemed to drain him, and he slumped against the wall seemingly exhausted. He then lowered his head and slowly sank back to the floor, still quaking though all the rage appeared to have drained from him.

Dylan crouched in front of him.

" It's my fault," Harper said in a small, choked voice. " She was coming to take me away. If they'd just let her, they'd be alive. But they wanted me to live. They said it's all they wanted."

" Then why are you blaming yourself?" Dylan asked.

Harper wiped his eyes furiously. " Because I wasn't worth it. I was sick. I was dying. There was no point."

Dylan shook his head. " Harper, I don't even know where to begin telling you what's wrong with that."

Harper wiped his nose on his sleeve. " I know, I know, I'm still alive," he said, and for a moment seemed like the familiar Harper again. Then it vanished, and his eyes flooded with tears.

" I just…"

" Miss them?"

Harper nodded.

Dylan put both his hands on Harper's shoulders. " I can relate. You never stop missing the ones you love. You'd have to be heartless if you did."

Harper was still trembling; Dylan could feel it.

" I saw them die," Harper said. " I watched them die… and I couldn't do anything. I was too weak," he spat with loathing. " I'm always too weak."

Dylan chuckled. " Harper, you are anything but weak. You've lasted too long and through too much to be considered weak. No one here thinks you're weak, and that includes Tyr though I doubt he'd admit it any time soon."

Harper met Dylan's gaze. There was so much sadness and pain in Harper's eyes that it twisted like a knife into Dylan's heart.

" Why'd it have to be her?" the young man asked miserably. " Why'd she have to come here?"

Dylan stood, and helped Harper to his feet as well. " I don't know. But I'll keep her away from you. If it can be helped, you won't have to see her or hear her the entire time she's here."

Harper gave Dylan a brief, weak smile. " Thanks boss."

AAAAAAAAAA

Anayla stood placidly before the wide window of her room. The universe stretched before her, the black emptiness flecked in the white of stars and worlds. It seemed to her that if she would just reach out she could pluck them off the black backdrop and hold them like diamonds in her hands.

She was feeling high in spirits. Things were not simply going well, they were going wonderfully.

Seth stood behind her at the door, waiting in icy silence.

" Has it begun?" she asked.

" We are beginning to set them in place."

She inclined her head. " And they have yet to be detected?"

" We are moving slowly as you instructed. They are too small for one to be traced. We've already removed those that have finished the infiltration."

Anayla inclined her head again. A small smile tugged at her lips.

" When the aftermath occurs, I want that kludge alive."

" You're sure it's him?"

She dropped the smile as anger stirred in her chest. " Seth, I remember every face of every kludge I've ever taken. You know that. I made sure to. It gave me the advantage in the bets we made with the rest of the slavers. Know the slaves, know the bets, remember? I always knew how long they would last, always! That worm, that _Harper_, would not have lasted twenty-four hours, even with treatment. It had been a sure wager. Oh yes, it is him. I'd know him anywhere, at any age. Funny how it took so long to find him, and here of all places."

She glanced over her shoulder to smirk at Seth. " He's quite the little survivor, isn't he?"

Seth smirked back. Anayla returned her sights to the infinity beyond the protective window. " He cannot last forever."


	9. Ch 9 Kludges and Ubers

Note: I apologize in advance if the next chapters take their sweet time in coming. I know what's going to happen in the story, I know how I want it to end, I just need to organize it all better and see how I want to get there. I always like ending things with a bit of a bang.

Ch. 9

Kludges and Ubers

A simple game of basketball had always been a benefit when it came to thinking with a clear head. Even when pitted against another, Dylan's brain calculating the strategies and moves needed to make a basket, he was still able to ponder situations that he could not focus on sitting still and alone.

He had been playing against Tyr only a moment ago, and now was contenting himself with simply shooting baskets. Tyr stood off to one side with his arms folded and one shoulder resting against the wall. The Nietzschean tended to wear quiet annoyance on his face like an old glove, and today it was especially potent.

" Tyr," Dylan said as he tossed the ball into the hoop. " I would love nothing more than to toss the Dragans off my ship and let them duke things out on their own. However, and though you may not consider this a high priority, I can't ignore the fact that the Dragans are a salver-happy bunch."

" I would imagine," Tyr said, " that those same slaves are very capable of handling themselves."

Dylan was about to shoot another basket but paused, turning his astonished gaze on Tyr.

" What? Was that a positive statement about humans? Why Tyr, if I didn't know better I would say you actually admired them."

Tyr lifted a dark-skin shoulder in response. " I can relate, that is all. My respect for the Dragans' slave labor is a short step than any respect I might foolishly harbor for the Drago-Kasov. You should know that."

Dylan looked back at the basket and made the shot. " I do." The ball bounced off the rim and Dylan leaned to one side to snatch it up before it could bounce away.

" However," Tyr continued, " Denying aid to the enemy is the logical choice in every respect. Humans will be sacrificed, yes, but this is a war. By letting the Magog weaken the Dragans it will give the humans an advantage. I say wait until the Dragans are at their lowest point, then lend our fire-power to the slaves as the little professor had wanted."

Dylan bounced the ball off the floor from hand to hand, looking thoughtfully at it as he did so.

" I've thought of that. But it's a risk I'd rather not take. The Dragans would use their slaves as a shield, putting them at the front of the heaviest Magog attacks. When Anayla told me that the humans would suffer along with her people, I was given the impression that she meant it as a threat." Dylan took up the ball and tossed it through the hoop in a clean score. It bounced back toward him three times before he caught it back up.

" What is it you hope to gain from all this?" Tyr asked. " Other than helping to keep the oppressed breathing a few days longer."

Dylan shrugged. " Oh, I don't know, whatever I can I suppose." Dylan lifted a single finger off the ball to point it at the Nietzschean. " You see Tyr, there in lies the temptation of this whole offer. By playing my cards right, maybe I'll be able to liberate a few of those slaves, or take a slave world all together, help it become independent, have it join the new Common Wealth. Tyr, the possibilities are endless. This is not something to just pass up."

Tyr opened his mouth, about to speak, when Dylan bounced the ball off the floor, forcing Try to catch it or get thumped in the stomach.

" There in, also, is where the problem lies. You're a Neitzschean Tyr. If you were the leader of the most vast and powerful pride in the galaxy, having a particularly bad day with one too many Magog runs and a few unruly slaves, would you go to your greatest enemy for help? We've heard Harper's Magog stories. It sounds to me as though the Dragans have had to face this kind of crisis before, minus the slave uprising of course."

Tyr began bouncing the ball from hand to hand as Dylan had done. " To begin with, I would not have slaves. But, seeing as how we are speaking metaphorically, then no I would not. That is, unless I could use it against you somehow."

" Exactly," Dylan replied. " No offense Tyr but I haven't met a Nietzschean that didn't have an agenda."

Tyr shrugged indifferently. " There can be no denying it."

Dylan grinned. " So, the real, honest to goodness problem is – how do I keep from playing into their hands. Do they want me to say yes I'll help them, or no get the hll off of my ship? My gut – and logic – tell me they want me to say yes. They know me, know that I would do what I could just to help the slaves. But, then again, they might have a back-up plan in case I say no."

" What to do indeed," Tyr dryly stated. He tossed the ball back to Dylan. Dylan caught it, and rolled the ball back and forth over his hands.

" Play their game is what we do," Dylan said. " See how far we can drag it out. If the Dragans are in as much trouble as Anayla says, then she'll start growing impatient. If not and there's a double meaning to this cry for help, she'll either remain calm or become agitated thinking that we're on to her."

Tyr pushed himself from off the wall, snatching the ball from Dylan's hands.

" Not one of your best plans, Dylan," he said. " Being a race with agendas, we are well practiced in deception." Tyr then tossed the ball casually away. It arched high toward the basket, passing through in a perfect shot. Neither man picked it back up when it bounced toward them like an eager pup wanting to play more.

" I'm aware of that Tyr," Dylan said. " But it's all I can do; wait and watch. Maybe whatever they're up to includes sabotage. Usually comes to that eventually. Nietzscheans may think themselves advanced, Tyr, but even they make mistakes."

Dylan was surprised that Tyr had yet to show offense. Then again, the tall Nietzschean could hide emotions with the best of them.

Tyr moved away from Dylan to retrieve the ball. For Dylan is was like a sign to change the subject, not because of offense, but more as though the Nietzschean were bored with it. Tyr was bent on throwing out the diplomat and her cronies, and Dylan on discovering what their real motive for coming was.

Dylan was also ready for a change of subject. There were other matters to discuss; though he was hesitant to discuss them.

Dylan was keeping Rommie busy with tracking the where-abouts of Anayla and her bodyguards. They were rarely all together, say for the diplomat and the one called Seth. The rest wandered about as though taking their own private tours of the ship, or perhaps in trying to locate something. According to Rommie, they had yet to try and poke through anything they shouldn't or place something suspicious in places that would suffer if damaged. They simply wandered, and this added to the unease that seemed welded to Dylan's being now. He just hoped that whatever they sought, if seeking they were, it wasn't Harper.

" I have a favor to ask, Tyr," Dylan said. Tyr tossed the ball into the basket so precisely that he never had to move to retrieve it. When he next caught the ball, he held it to look at Dylan.

" Depends on whether or not I will like this."

Dylan placed his hands on his hips; his bare arms prickling as the sweat dried and cooled him. " It's important Tyr, very important. And no, you may not like it."

Tyr turned most of his attention back to making shots. " Tell of it. It might prove intriguing."

" I need you to help Harper."

" Help him do what?"

" To stay away from Anayla and her goons."

Tyr smirked. " Is there really such a desperation among the Dragans to have his head?"

Dylan sighed sadly. " It's not that. Anayla didn't even know Harper was the one." Dylan shook his head. " I don't know if I should even be talking to you about this. It's Harper's business. But, I suppose, if anyone had to know, you would be the best choice. You led a slaves life, and your parents were killed."

Tyr caught the ball, tucking it under his arm then turning to face Dylan.

Dylan continued. " Anayla is the one who killed Harper's parents."

Tyr's eyebrow arched in a semblance of surprise, though the rest of his face remained deadpan. " Did she?"

" Killed them right in front of him. Harper told me she was coming to take _him_ away, so his parents hid him, and she killed them."

Tyr lifted his arm enough to allow the ball to drop, then began bouncing it once again from hand to hand. " Sounds to me as though the opposite is in order, and Anayla should be the one protected."

" Tyr, Anayla remembers him."

Tyr caught the ball in one hand to stop it from thumping hollowly on the floor. He tucked it back under his thick-muscled arm.

" Harper asked me to help him stay away from her," Dylan went on. " But Anayla has this… odd interest in Harper. She wants to meet him and she keeps asking about him. I don't want her anywhere near him. Her or any of her soldiers, especially alone. I need you to watch them, and be ready in case one of them finds Harper 'accidentally.' Anayla I especially don't want around him. It's tearing him up enough as it is with her being on this ship. I don't know what would happen if they met face to face. You don't have to be with Harper twenty four-seven, but I would like you to make sure that if one of the Dragans does happen on him that doesn't end up alone with them. Can you do that?"

Tyr remained perfectly still, unreadable as a blank flexi. He then tossed the ball back to Dylan.

" Yes," he stated simply, then walked from the small court. Dylan smiled in relief, then tossed the ball one more time through the hoop.

AAAAAAAAAA

Tyr sighed in weary irritation as he casually traversed the halls. It was somewhat loathing to admit, but he had far too much in common with the little man. It was a strange concept, having similarities with such a small, nervous, skinny, weak, mouthy kludge. If opposites could be manifested in physical form, then Harper was that form for Tyr. And yet to traverse the pages of their past selves one might think they were brothers in fate. Over time, Tyr had come to reluctantly realize that Harper was the only other being on the Andromeda that could possibly understand true suffering.

What Dylan had just told Tyr had deepened that commonality between himself and the boy. Parents killed by Drago-Kasov. It seemed not just stories could contain cliches, but life as well. Both Tyr and Harper were orphans. They had both survived cruelty and pain. They were both survivors.

Now _that_ Tyr could admit. It was what endeared him to the little man, his ability to survive despite his whining, frailty, and the fact that he should be dead by now. The boy also had a way of making Tyr laugh, though never out loud or in front of anyone else. All in all, Tyr had a grudging fondness for the young human. He would protect the boy, and gladly break a Nietzschean neck if so much as a bruise manifested itself on Harper. And if that neck were Dragan, then all the more to be relished.

Tyr made his way toward the machine shop to start this little mission off with a brief checkup on the little man. It was the usual place where he would be, but the moment Tyr walked into the mess of metal scraps and machine parts he stopped dead in his tracks.

Anayla was there, and she had her back to the door. She was looking around, and Tyr caught a brief glimpse of her disgust when she turned her head just right. Thankfully, the little professor was no where in sight.

" Is there something you need?" Tyr asked in his usual dry tone, breaking the strange silence that seemed unnatural for the machine shop.

Anayla slowly turned and scrutinized Tyr at a glance, neither approving nor disapproving at what she saw. Then she smiled, though it seemed a cold smile.

" I was just looking."

Tyr folded his hands behind his back. " Why?"

Anayla looked around again. " I was just curious. Is this where your engineer works? Seems like it would be."

Tyr said nothing, just let her talk so he could listen and learn.

" You know," she continued, " this room vaguely reminds me of earth. The kludges there are always collecting garbage. They like to collect it. They're like rats, scurrying over everything, spreading diseases, stealing. If they didn't have their uses they would have been wiped out long ago. I don't see how you can stand it, being around them, taking orders from them. Although I must admit that your captain Hunt has many tolerable traits for a kludge."

Anayla moved over to one of the many metal shelves cluttered with the odds and ends Harper used in his machinations. She picked up a tangle of frayed wire, then let it drop to wipe her hands off on her pants. " Where did you find your engineer? How did you come upon him?"

" You would have to ask Captain Valentine about that. She was the one who took him in."

Anayla moved to another shelf, looking over Harper's collection of tools.

" Amazing, isn't it?" she said. " How he's managed to live so long. Such sick little things, those earth kludges. Do you find it difficult trying to keep your engineer healthy? Even in a ship such as this?"

Tyr wanted to laugh. Keeping him 'alive' might have been a better choice of words. It did indeed go beyond reasoning that Harper should last so long with his terrible health and the Magog worms resting against his innards.

Tyr continued his silent observations, wondering what Anayla was getting at. Was she baiting him, testing him to see just how deep his loyalty ran for the humans? Or was she spouting the famous Dragan superiority drivel?

Or perhaps she was trying to get Tyr to open up about Harper, maybe even mention places he could be on the ship. After all, if Anayla were in a true condescending state of mind then she would have mentioned something insulting about Rev, Beka and Trance.

" I really would like to meet him," she said.

" To catch up on old times?" Tyr finally said.

Anayla turned to him, her smile permanent as a sculpture. " What old times?"

She then walked by Tyr, brushing lightly passed him, her perfume rising from her like unseen mist to envelope Tyr. Her closeness and her scent were deliberate. Anayla was being coy, playing at seduction.

Unknown to her, it did not work. Rather than leaving Tyr intrigued, she had left him in disgust.

Tyr now knew the woman, what she was like, what she had been, and what she was about. She had been a slaver, and Tyr knew all about slavers. Whether Nietzschean or human, all slavers were the same: all containing an unnatural amount of pride in their job. They always caught those they went after, even if it meant killing them. Death was a setback, a cause for anger. Escape led to madness, especially with the obsessed slaver. Tyr had known a slaver like that. After escaping the collapsed mine and seeking his revenge on his masters, a slaver had sought him out. The human had hunted him like an animal over many long years, only to meet a rather nasty, bloody death when he finally caught up to the more grown-up Tyr.

Anayla was one of the obsessed. The fact that she remembered Harper at all was affirmation to that. The obsessed slavers always remembered faces and names, as though trying to keep a tally of their accomplishments in the business.

What Tyr could not determine is what Anayla planned to do once she finally met Harper. Would she kill him or take him? It was either one or the other. Anayla would not stop until she finally found Harper.

Tyr let out a frustrated breath. Far too much in common.

AAAAAAAAAAAAA

For the first time since coming aboard the Andromeda, Harper found no joy in the ship's holo-matrix. Even with his body hidden in the access port tunnels and Rommie's continuing surveillance of Anayla and her thugs, Harper could not suppress feelings of vulnerability.

Harper stood within the maze of data rising up around him like glowing buildings of numbers flowing in continuous motion. He accessed information through simple hand gestures, bringing up the info he needed in the blink of an eye.

" Still don't see it, Rommie," he said.

Andromeda appeared beside him, her hands clasped behind her back and her usually stoic face actually betraying a hint of annoyance.

" There _is_ a malfunction Harper. For about three point two seconds I lost my surveillance capabilities."

Harper shivered. " It's not that I don't believe you, Rom-doll, it's just that I'm not seeing it." He winced at his own impatient tone. " Sorry."

" No need to apologize. But I am a ship, Harper, not a human. I am not prone to experiencing phantom readings."

Harper held up one finger pointedly as he continued to sift through the data with his other hand. " Actually, Rommie, you are if someone makes you. If you say there was a malfunction then there was, but I can't find it here."

" Perhaps it is a side effect of your security updates."

Harper shook his head vehemently. " No, no way. I checked those out ten times over. They're perfect." He paused in sudden thought with his hands still raised. Ice seemed to shoot down both his mental and physical spine. He turned his head to look at Rommie nervously.

" Could it be sabotage?"

Rommie tilted her head to one side and gave Harper a narrow-eyed look.

" Harper, that's paranoid thinking. We would know if someone were altering my systems."

Harper restarted the sifting, searching almost frantically now. " No we wouldn't, not they're good. It's happened before. Would you like me to bring up a few accounts to freshen your memory?"

" Harper, calm down or I'll eject you from my systems."

Harper heard her but did not care. He pulled up data at a rate that he could barely read it, but he did not have to. If something was there then he would see it at a glance. He checked everything, including systems that even an amateur hacker would know to ignore.

" Harper, I know you're scared, but this is not the way to go. There is too much to search, and we've already gone through those systems that would most likely receive a threat. There's nothing to find."

Harper finally dropped his hands, but not because he was giving up. There were ways of disrupting systems without it being detected. Harper knew well enough having created a few programs himself to use on enemy ships. In his research to develop such technology he had come upon rumors of programs and nanite technology so advanced they could erase the entire system of even the largest ship and still not be discovered until long after the fact. Other technologies of the same type were so intelligent they knew how to avoid detection by hiding behind the right data code.

If such a ploy was being utilized then Rommie was right, he would not be able to find it. He could not even say if what Rommie had experienced was a simple malfunction or something more. That did not mean Harper could not play it safe. There was no harm in being ready if Anayla and her cohorts had something going on up their sleeves (had they sleeves to begin with.)

Harper turned to the virtual Andromeda, clasping his hands together as though about to pray.

" Rom, doll, I need to ask a really, really, really, really big favor from you."

Rommie folded her arms across her chest. " What?"

" I need to, kind of, sort of, borrow a piece of you."

Rommie's eyes rounded over. " What?"

" Just a small piece to set aside in case something's going on. I promise, swear on my life, to restore it should nothing happen or something happen and we survive. Please Rommie. I know these ubers, I know what they're like. You can't trust them even when all they're doing is blinking and breathing. Trust me in this, Rommie, I know what I'm doing. Please?"

Harper tensed in wait for an answer. Rommie stared at him suspiciously as she drummed her fingers on her arm.

Perhaps it was the look of desperation on his face, the sound of it in his voice, or both, that caused Rommie to finally soften. She lowered her arms to clasp them back behind her.

" If you do anything that would cause me to regret this, then I will make sure that you regret it as well."

Harper nodded in understanding, pushing the threat aside since his intentions were wholly pure.

" Fine," Rommie said. " Do what you need to."

Harper sighed in relief. " Thanks Rom-doll," he said, genuinely affected.

" I may need to explain this to Dylan."

" Fine, but he probably won't understand it. At least not yet."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

**TBC** - I promise!


	10. Ch 10 Surveillance

Ch. 10

Surveillance

Harper blinked rapidly to try and get his eyes to moisten. The flickering light of the small, flat hand-held screen he had thrown together made his eyes burn and his head throb. Adding to this was the annoying ache in his back from keeping his spine curved for countless hours. He was huddled against the wall of the duct, leaning forward with his arms around the screen to see the image that flicked from one area of the ship to the other. A long cord similar to those he used for his data port coiled from the screen to a jack on the control panel.

He was keeping watch of the progression of the various ubers wandering the corridors, and had been for two days with few breaks. In all that time he had yet to actually see any of them do anything. There came moments when one of the oversized males would stop at a console, and each time Harper would go tense and move his face so close to the screen his nose almost touched it. But then the uber would move on, keeping his arms either folded or by his side, never having touched a thing.

Harper was seeing this now with a tan-skinned soldier with brown hair done up in dreds similar to Tyr's. He was hovering about a wall console, though Harper paid little attention to it to know which. The uber was looking it over in bored interest for several long minutes, then moved on.

" Dang it!" Harper snapped shrilly, jerking back and thumping his head against the wall. He snapped his hand up to the bruised area, seething furiously.

" Stupid, careful, uber," Harper growled.

" Harper," came Rommie's slightly exasperated voice. " I think it's time you took a break. You haven't slept and you haven't had a proper meal for two days. You're becoming delirious."

Harper shook his pounding head. " No, no way. I close my eyes for two seconds and it's bye-bye Andromeda."

" I highly doubt that the Nietzschean diplomats will bring down this ship just because you were taking a nap. Besides, they have yet to do anything even remotely suspicious other than these continuing tours. And though I must admit that these 'tours' are good reason to wonder about their intentions, they are not enough for you to kill yourself over."

Harper rubbed his eyes irritably. He had heard Rommie's words, but would not let them register. He flipped from image to image, faster and faster. He paused when the ubers paused, then flipped again.

" Harper?" Rommie said.

Harper stopped when the dark-skinned uber with the bald pate slowed when approaching command only to turn and go the other way.

" Harper?"

It was as though these ubers were playing a game. They knew Harper was watching them so was leading him on, trying to distract him from what he really needed to see.

" Harper!"

That was it. They knew Harper was on to them. They were toying with him.

" HARPER!"

Harper jolted back to reality and knocked his head against the wall once more.

" What!" he practically snarled.

" Go, rest, eat or I'll report you to Dylan and suggest he lock you in you room until the Nietzscheans have gone."

" What!" Harper replied, rubbing his head. " You wouldn't…"

" I would and I will if you don't go now."

" But…"

" Now! Harper."

Harper went rigid with anger, considering for a brief moment spiting Andromeda and continuing his surveillance. He looked back at the screen, but saw only static. Then the static cleared back to the image of an empty corridor. This was the twentieth time this had happened, and Harper still could not find the cause.

Then Harper noticed that the screen appeared to be shaking. But it was not the screen, it was his hands, and not because he was angry he knew. He could barely hold the screen up anymore, light as it was.

Harper narrowed his eyes in frustration, then yanked the cord from the jack, wrapping it around the screen tightly.

" I suggest you not go to your own quarters," Rommie said. " Anayla has found particular interest in that area of the ship. As well as the machine shop."

Now a part of Harper's shaking _was_ due to anger. " Great, just great. All I need now is a few parasites, a couple of good beatings, no food and it'd be earth all over again."

" I suggest staying in Rev Bem's quarters for the time being. He has yet to be bothered by any of the Nietzscheans."

Harper began crawling through the ducts. " Doesn't mean they won't."

AAAAAAAAAAAA

Trance watched in mild amusement as Harper downed his food without even chewing. She had brought it to him only a minute ago and he was already finishing, most likely so he could return to the ducts and take up whatever it was he had been doing. She would have to stop him if he tried, though. Rommie had told her. Trance had a serum all ready in case Harper tried. She kept it hidden in her hands folded behind her back.

Rev Bem was meditating within the shadows off to the side and seemed oblivious to the two beings' presence. But he was aware, Trance knew.

When Harper finished his dinner he set the tray aside. He was sitting on the floor, and Trance waited in great patience for the moment when he would stand up and make for the access door. To her slight surprise, Harper did no such thing. Instead he looked around Rev's quarters with an expression of deep worry, rubbing at the back of his neck.

" Better?" Trance asked chipperly. The answer, however, was made apparent without words. Harper's face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and the skin beneath his eyes shadowed. All in all, he did not look well, and Trance had the sneaking suspicion that he was not. It took very little to make Harper sick, and he had been very stressed for several days now.

" I need to know where they are," Harper said distractedly.

" Who?" Trance asked, though she already knew.

" Those – those ubers, and that woman." Harper said this with a great amount of loathing. He then winced, following it up by straightening and twisting his upper body to cause the individual vertebrae of his backbone to pop.

Trance made a face. " Ewww!"

" Ow!" Harper said, sagging. " That was supposed to feel good. Man my head hurts. But I have to know where they are…"

He started to rise, so Trance moved over to him to force him back down by pushing on his shoulder.

" Actually, you have to rest. Rommie said so." She then placed her hand on his forehead, and her suspicions were confirmed. " Wow, you're really warm. See what happens when you don't take care of yourself?"

Harper narrowed his eyes. " Hey, I'm used to it."

Trance squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. " This isn't earth, Harper. You don't have to put up with a life like that anymore."

Harper shoved at the food tray with his foot to send it sliding part way across the room. " I know. I just… I can't… they're up to something, I know it! Rommie's malfunctions didn't happen until they arrived. Coincidence? I don't think so. They're doing something and I gotta find it."

He made to rise again, only to be forced back down.

" Harper," Trance said. " You were told to rest. A few hours of sleep isn't going to hurt anyone." She then brought out the medicine in its injector. " Don't force me to use this."

Harper sagged again, almost as though in defeat. He began rubbing his neck once more but his gaze showed only weariness.

" Actually," he quietly said, " maybe you should. I won't be able to sleep. I don't care how tired I am, it ain't gonna happen."

Trance nodded and knelt to inject the vapor into Harper's neck below his data port. But before she could, Harper jerked his head around to look at her, and there was such terror in his eyes that it startled Trance.

" They won't come here, right?" he asked her with a kind of pleading desperation in his voice. Trance still had her hand on his shoulder and could feel his small, rigid frame trembling. " 'Cause that's how it happened last time. I was sick, they came, bad crap happened…" he gave a nervous laugh. " Be kinda weird if it happens all over again. I'm just saying." He shrank back slightly. " They won't find me here though, right?"

Trance stared at him for a moment, hoping that what he saw in her own features was kindness and not pity, since Harper hated pity. The last time she had felt this sad for the little human was when she had to tell him that they could not remove the Magog larvae without killing him.

Trance placed her arm across Harper's shoulders in a quick hug. " We won't let them, I promise. Ready?"

Harper nodded, still shaking and still filled with far too much fear. Trance placed the injector against his neck right on a pulse so the medicine would travel faster. She pressed the release and the vapor entered the engineer with a hiss.

" It will take a few seconds," Trance said. Harper nodded again, then with Trance's help moved onto the bed that Rev rarely used. Harper barely had time to lie down before he was out, breathing softly. Trance was moving Harper's legs onto the bed, and felt Rev's presence as he moved up beside her.

" Finally asleep, I see," he said in his hoarse but gentle voice.

" He still had to take the medication to do it," Trance replied. She looked over at the Wayist.

Rev was shaking his head sadly. " This is a strange ordeal for master Harper, having the murderer of his parent's so near. Though I try to reserve judgment, I must admit that I do not doubt his suspicions. They are proving themselves to be sound."

Trance pressed her lips into a tight, thoughtful line. " You'll stay with him, right?" she asked Rev. " Make sure no one comes?"

The Magog bowed his head slightly. " Of course. Believe me when I say it will prove no difficult task. The Nietzschean diplomats have been making an excellent effort in avoiding me. I strongly doubt that they will come visit any time soon."

Trance beamed at Rev, then turned quickly around, making sure not to whack Rev with her tail.

" Where are you off too?" Rev asked curiously. She turned back to him momentarily to give him a wry grin but gave to reply. On heading out she snatched up the tray with her tail and hurried from Rev's room.

The purple girl hurried down the corridor to drop the tray off at the mess. She then went in search of the nearest Nietszchean (Tyr not included.) It was a simple search since they seemed incapable of sitting still. She came upon the dark-skinned guard with the bald head as he strolled without purpose down the metallic halls. Trance watched him from around the corner where she hid, only to emerge when the Nietszchean turned. Her tread was soft and so silent not even Nietszchean super hearing could catch it.

Trance was good at sneaking. Few else would think this of her since she tended to get caught after a time, but only because she wanted to be caught. Everything she did held intention behind it, including being caught after slipping about unnoticed for a certain amount of time.

She kept to the Nietszchean's trail tightly without ever losing him. When he stopped, she stopped, crouched, and watched. So far the Nietszchean had yet to do anything. However, even the simplest action, no matter how small, could speak volumes. Trance soon noticed that the only time the Nietszchean stopped was when he came upon something of a technical nature such as a console or control panel. He would lean in close to study it, or move in close looking upward as though studying the ceiling.

Trance let out a silent breath of frustration. Suspicious, yes, but nothing more.

Finally, she gave up on the dark-skinned uber to move on and seek out another. She went back the way she had come, turning down three corridors, when she was stopped by Andromeda's hologram.

" Harper was unable to find any evidence of tampering. I do not think your surveillance will prove any more useful."

Trance shrugged. " Well, I can try. Besides, it will make Harper feel better knowing someone else was keeping an eye on things for him. Besides just you, I mean."

" In all truth," holo-Rommies said. " It's not such a bad plan. My surveillance systems are proving difficult. They become disrupted without warning and I cannot diagnose why. Harper has tried to locate the problem but is unable to."

Trance nodded in sympathy. " I know. And now he's sick."

Holo-Rommie lifted a single eyebrow, the closest indication of surprise for the hologram. " Sick? That would explain his rise in body temperature. He'll need to be observed should it grow any worse."

" Rev is with him. Oh! I should ask Beka to help, and Rommie. I mean android Rommie, since you're also Rommie. I mean you should ask Rommie, I mean yourself…"

" I understand," Holo-Rommie said. She then looked upward for a moment. " My avatar is on her way. I'll go tell Beka. You should keep following."

With that, Holo-Rommie vanished. Trance smiled excitedly. Normally she was told to do the complete opposite.

She returned to her search of the corridor for more ubers, only to slow when a strange feeling came over her. It was like a tugging at the back of her mind, pulling her toward something. So she followed it where ever it strengthened.

Three turns later she came upon Anayla taking a sauntering, solitary walk. The white hared Nietszchean was not with her, and this struck Trance as being odd. She did not like it and would have searched out Anayla's bodyguard but the feeling had guided her here, so this was where she needed to be.

In her scrutiny, Anayla's cool gaze finally settled on Trance, and the woman smiled.

" Trance Gemini," she said as though speaking to someone of renown. Trance smiled back at her nervously, feigning surprise at the Lady's acknowledgment of her. But Trance was not surprised at all. Of course this woman would take the time to learn everyone's name. It was through the crew that she hoped to get to Harper.

Trance smiled inwardly with knowing. Her innocence would give the Nietszchean woman a false sense of superiority. Her verbal trickery would be simple, but Trance had tricks of her own.

" You know me?" Trance asked sweetly.

" Of course. Your captain did introduce us. Unlike some of my people, I take introductions very seriously. I must thank you for the plants you placed in my quarters. They are quite lovely."

Trance folded her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels and coiling her tail.

" Thank you. I love plants. Would you like me to show you hydroponics? Dylan lets me collect all kinds of pretty plants…"

Anayla held up her hand. " Perhaps later. You know, Miss Gemini…"

" You can call me Trance," Trance said.

" Trance. I have yet to meet all of your crew. Your engineer was not there during the introductions, and I would very much like to meet him. He has done such wonderful work on this ship. Can you tell me where I might find him?"

Trance grimaced apologetically. " That might not be a good idea. He hasn't been feeling well lately."

" That's all right. My immune system is quite capable of handling _anything_."

Trance sensed Anayla was making a mockery of Harper, but Trance had never been one to give way to anger often.

" I'm sorry, I can't tell you where he is," Trance said.

" Are you certain?"

Trance nodded.

" Oh." Anayla then brushed past Trance, though still smiling politely.

" I don't think he wants to see you," Trance said, turning to watch Anayla's retreating back. The Lady stopped when Trance said this.

" Really?" She said, turning as well. She was still grinning. " He said that?"

Trance shrugged helplessly. " Well, you did kill his parents. I think he's still really upset about it. I don't think he likes you very much."

Anayla's brow lifted in slight surprise. " He remembers me then?"

" Maybe you shouldn't try to meet him. It might not be a good idea."

A shadow seemed to pass over Anayla's features, darkness filling her eyes.

" Is that a threat, my dear Miss Gemini? Are you threatening me?"

Trance lifted her shoulders, scratching the back of her head with the tip of her tail.

" Not really. But even if I was, I'm not the one you should be worried about."

With that said, Trance smiled, waved farewell, and continued on merrily down the hall.

**TBC**


End file.
